


Unorganized Snapshots of Prep School Life

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Law & Order
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/M, HSAU, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 35,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Cutter, high school senior, attends Manhattan Prep, rooms with Ed Green and Cyrus Lupo, joins mock trial, and gets a major crush on his coach, Jack McCoy. That's the story in order. This is the story in time-jumping pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mike Cutter Meets his Roommates

Headmistress Van Buren is imposing, to say the least. She sits behind her desk like she’s going to call down judgment on Mike, his family, and every last boyhood sin he’s committed. Mike’s not really religious, but with Headmistress Van Buren slowly flipping through his records like she may actually be reading them, he considers conversion.  
  
”Mr. Cutter,” she says, as she looks at his school records. “Eight schools in eleven years. I think that’s a record.”  
  
“My folks move a lot,” Mike says, stuttering just slightly. “And-and my mom thought it might be time to try something different.”  
  
“So you chose Manhattan Prep.”  
  
“My mom did, yeah.” Mike clenches his fingers against the material of his school-issued black pants and tries to match Van Buren’s stare. He blinks first. “It’s a nice campus.”  
  
“Thank you.” Van Buren stands and gestures Mike to do so as well. “You’ll be staying in a three-person suite in Schiff Hall.” She leads the way out of the office and outside, heading left towards the squat brick buildings that Mike knows are the dorms. “I’m putting you with Cyrus Lupo and Ed Green. Their previous roommate just transferred to another school.”  
  
“Okay,” Mike says, because he feels like he should say something. He watches a group of people walk by, all his age, all dressed like him in black pants and a white shirt and a maroon sweater. “There are girls on this campus, right?”  
  
Van Buren smirks and jerks a thumb in the opposite direction. “Across the quad and after a forest of alligators.”  
  
“Oh.” Mike feels embarrassed and isn’t sure why. “But they’re in classes with us and stuff, right?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Cutter.” Van Buren opens the door to the dormitory and takes a left for the stairs. “You’ll see the ladies in classes, at meals, and in all of the academic buildings on campus. They will not, however, be tolerated if found in your room or if you are found in theirs. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Van Buren smiles at him in a way that’s almost motherly. “Excellent.” She stops halfway down the second floor corridor, room 27, and knocks on a door that has a whiteboard and construction paper decorations. The door opens to a slightly gangly boy with curly brown hair and an untucked shirt. His eyes go wide at the sight of Van Buren, and he hustles to make himself presentable.  
  
“Relax, Mr. Lupo,” Van Buren says amusedly. “I’m just dropping off your new roommate.”  
  
The boy pauses, shirt half-tucked, and then untucks it again. “Okay.” He gives Mike a little smile. “Hi. I’m Cyrus.” He steps aside to let Mike and Van Buren in. “Ed’s out right now. He has baseball practice.”  
  
“I’m sure you can get Mr. Cutter settled on your own.”  
  
“Yes, Ma’am.”  
  
Van Buren nods and closes the door as she leaves. Cyrus smiles at Mike again and leans against an armchair. “What’s your name?”  
  
“Mike.”  
  
“Hey, Mike.”  
  
Mike grins. “Hey.”  
  
“So,” Cyrus waves a hand to encompass the room at large. “This is the palace.”  
  
‘The palace’ is a smallish sitting area with two armchairs, a couch, and a slightly battered coffee table. There’s a television hooked up to a DVD player and a couple of game systems, and Mike can see through a half-open door, a messy bedroom. “Where’s my room?”  
  
“On the end,” Cyrus points to a closed door. The middle door is also closed but is decorated with a few Polaroids and a magnet board. Mike’s door is bare, save half of an old sticker above the doorknob. “Ed’s is the middle room. He snores. You get used to it.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike walks over to the door to his room and lets himself in. The bed is unmade, but there are sheets and a blanket folded at the foot. The trunk his dad had dragged from the car is sitting in the middle of the floor, and there’s a desk and a closet. It’s bright and scrubbed clean, and Mike feels ungodly lonely for just a minute.  
  
“We have dinner at six.” Cyrus leans against Mike’s door and looks into the room. “It’s taco night. They’re pretty good.”  
  
It’s a thinly veiled attempt to make Mike feels better, and he knows it. He’s been the new kid more than he cares to remember, and he knows that falsely caring tone. He turns around to tell Cyrus as much, but he’s met with a genuine smile, and that’s a change. “Tacos?”  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
Mike shrugs. “I like tacos.”  
  
“Cool. I’ll let you unpack.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike looks around the room again, shrugs at the space in general, and starts making his bed. He unpacks his trunk and stows it in the closet, and when he looks around the room, it looks a little less bland if no more personable. He walks back into the sitting area and flops into an armchair. Cyrus is playing Halo, cursing under his breath and twitching every time he takes a shot.   
  
“Hey,” he says as he presses back into the couch and curses again.  
  
“Hey,” Mike says because he figures it’s expected. He watches Cyrus play for a few minutes before asking, “So what now?”  
  
“Now we dick around.” Cyrus hits pause on his controller and tosses it on the coffee table. “It’s Sunday, but it’s not a city weekend, and you don’t have any extra-curriculars yet.” Cyrus laughs a little when Mike twists his face in disgust. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
“I can’t believe they’re mandatory.” Mike sinks deeper into his chair. “I mean, who does that?”  
  
“Ivy prep schools,” Cyrus says matter-of-factly. “And, for the record, hall monitor counts as extra-curricular.”  
  
Mike raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”  
  
“I don’t play well with others.” Cyrus says it with a self-deprecating grin. “Van Buren found a loophole.” He leans back into the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table. “So, you here because you want to be or because you got dumped?”  
  
The sudden change in conversation makes Mike stutter around for words. “I…um…what?”  
  
“Everyone’s either here because it makes their transcripts look good or mommy and daddy don’t have time for junior. Which one are you?”  
  
Mike’s not really sure. “I don’t know. My parents move around a lot for my dad’s job, but they didn’t, like, dump me here.”  
  
“Lucky you.” Cyrus shrugs at Mike’s look. “My parents suck.”  
  
“Oh,” and Mike can’t think of anything else. He wonders if he’s coming off just as awkward as he feels.  
  
There’s a mildly weird pause, and then Cyrus tosses Mike a controller. “Come on, it’s more fun to play if someone’s actually trying to kill you.”  
  
Mike settles on the other end of the couch from Cyrus to get a better view of the television, and then he loses track of time as he and Cyrus try repeatedly to kill each other in various and insane ways. He’s just managed to needle-gun Cyrus to death for a second time when the main door flies open and a tall, rangy boy with loam-colored skin tumbles into the room, a bat, ball, and mitt in a net bag going flying across the room.  
  
“I’m home!” He announces with a grin and only pauses half a second at the sight of Mike. “New kid!” He holds out his hand. “Ed Green.”  
  
“Mike Cutter.” Mike shakes his hand and feels completely overwhelmed.   
  
“Lup! Move it!” Ed flops next to Cyrus and steals the controller from his hand. “What level are we on?”  
  
“Needlers,” Cyrus says, his voice suddenly much softer and more nervous than it had been just a few minutes before. “Mike just killed me.”  
  
“Pussy,” Ed says with affection and hits the button to restart the level. “Bring it, Cutter. I will own your ass.”  
  
Mike blinks a few times and clicks to restart his half of the screen. “Okay.” There’s something about Ed that seems to take over the room, and it makes Mike itch a little. He pauses his half of the screen to peel out of his sweater.  
  
“Wondered how long that would take,” Cyrus says, but it’s with a grin. “Those things are fucking annoying.”  
  
“At least we don’t have to wear ties,” Ed counters, then whoops when he manages to kill Mike. “Suck that, Cutter!”  
  
“Hey! No fair! I was paused!”  
  
“All’s fair in love and Halo. You pause, you die!” Ed jumps up and does a victory dance in front of the television. It involves a lot of hip thrusting.  
  
“Does he do this all the time?”  
  
Cyrus snorts at the trepidation in Mike’s tone. “Nah. Just after prac-omph!” He’s tackled by Ed and knocked to the floor, and they’re wrestling as Cyrus flips Ed so that he’s on the bottom.  
  
Mike can’t do anything but watch and lift his feet when they get too close. He wonders if he should be saying something or if that would make him a buzzkill, and it’s only when they bounce off the Xbox do they finally slow down. Mike watches them as they lay side-by-side on the floor and gasp at one another, grinning. Mike wonders if that’s what it’s like to have a friend. He’s moved around so much friends were hard to keep.  
  
“Dinner?” Ed says when he finally levels himself off the floor. “I’m starved.” He reaches down a hand and pulls Cyrus to his feet. “C’mon, Lup. Grab your shoes and let’s go.”  
  
“Gimmie a sec. I gotta tuck in my shirt.”  
  
“Wouldn’t want Van Buren to catch you unclean.” Ed ducks the swat Cyrus aims at his head and gives Mike a wide, slightly disorienting grin. “He has a thing for Van Buren.”  
  
“I do not!” Cyrus yells from his bedroom. “Just because I’m not always trying to get one over on her doesn’t mean I have a crush!”  
  
‘He so does,’ Ed mouths to Mike.  
  
Mike feels himself smiling and decides that Ed’s not so bad. Mike’s just not used to being around someone with so much energy.  
  
Cyrus comes out of his room, shoes on, shirt tucked, and hair combed. He glares when Ed points. “Shaddup.”  
  
“Touch-e. Someone needs food.” Ed slings an arm around Cyrus’s shoulder and turns to look at Mike. “You comin’ man? You gotta sit with someone. Might as well be us.”  
  
“I’m coming,” Mike says and follows them out the door and over to the mess hall. It’s already a quarter full, and Mike falls into line after Ed and Cyrus, taking what they take and grabbing an extra slice of pie when he walks by the dessert cart. They sit at a round table that’s already had a couple of chairs pulled away to other groups, and Mike looks around and tries to gauge the room.   
  
“We don’t really have cliques here,” Ed says when he notices Mike looking around. “It’s hard to be superior when everyone’s a nerd.”  
  
Cyrus rolls his eyes and eats a few bits of lettuce that have fallen off his taco. “Says Mr. Popular.”  
  
“Hey, no one forced you to be law and order guy. You volunteered for hall monitor duty.”  
  
“What’s that?” Mike asks, pointing to the only square table in the whole cafeteria. It’s populated with a dozen adults, all of them chatting with one another.  
  
“Staff table,” Ed says as he leans across Mike for the hot sauce. “They’re okay, for teachers.”  
  
“Munch,” Cyrus points to a very thin man with close-cropped gray hair and dark glasses, “teaches history. He’s a wacko.”  
  
“An entertaining wacko,” Ed clarifies. “The guy next to him is Coach Fin.” Coach Fin is a broad man with a pockmarked face and a ponytail. “He teaches boys’ gym and coaches the swim team. And the guy next to him is Mr. Goren. He’s the English teacher.”  
  
“Also a wacko,” Cyrus says. “And really twitchy, but you get used to it.”  
  
Mike watches as Goren nearly fumbles his water glass. “If you say so.”  
  
“Seriously, give it two weeks, and you barely notice,” Ed says reassuringly. “And the woman next to him is Nurse Rogers. Word to the wise, she doesn’t give you aspirin if she thinks you’re hung over.”  
  
Mike gets the feeling Ed knows from experience. “I’ll make a note,” he says instead of asking.   
  
Cyrus points to the other end of the table to a white-haired man with a slightly bulbous nose and a fancy-looking tie. “Mr. Fontana teaches math. He likes trick questions.”  
  
“But he’s not a wacko.” Ed grins when Cyrus sticks out his tongue. “Mature.”  
  
“Shaddup.”  
  
Ed waves him off. “The guy next to Fontana is Mr. Briscoe. He’s the music teacher.”  
  
“Band or choir?” Mike asks because he feels like they should know he’s paying attention.  
  
“Both,” Ed says. “And the guy next to him is Mr. McCoy. He teaches Poli Sci and runs the mock trial team. Mr. Stone, the science teacher,” Ed points to a man walking to the staff table, bald with wire rimmed glasses, “used to run it, but he gave it up to Mr. McCoy a couple of years ago. Apparently the students like Mr. McCoy better.”  
  
“He lets you cuss in the mock trial room,” Cyrus explains.  
  
“Cool,” Mike says and watches the way Mr. McCoy talks to Headmistress Van Buren. He’s leaning in close and smiling, and Mike notices the beginnings of crows’ feet around his eyes. “I always wanted to do mock trial.”  
  
Cyrus’s eyebrows go up. “Really?”  
  
Mike stares at his plate and feels himself blushing. “Yeah.”  
  
“Cool,” Cyrus says and seems to mean it. “I thought about it, but I just like the hall monitor gig better.”  
  
“He gets to bust cheerleaders when they’re late for class,” Ed says, grinning. “It’s a perk.”  
  
Mike and Cyrus laugh, and the conversation turns to non-staff related topics. It’s only after dinner, when Mike is sitting in his room and flipping through his new textbooks that he realizes he’d had a nice time.


	2. Mike's First Day of Classes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike meets Connie. Mike meets Mr. McCoy. Mike must speak in public.

Ed and Cyrus, who informs Mike at breakfast to call him ‘Lupo’, have first hour history with Mike. The guys are right; Munch is wacko, but he is entertaining, and when Mike leaves he’s surprised to find out he’s written six pages of useful notes. Ed has gym second hour while Cyrus has math, and they bicker when they try to give Mike directions to Mr. McCoy’s room so that Mike can make it to Poli Sci. He ends up sliding in the door just after the tardy bell and freezes when twenty people stop what they’re doing to stare at him.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy says with a slight smile. “I heard you’d be joining us today.”  
  
Mike presses his back against the door and tries not to fidget. “Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.” There’s a collection of chuckles, and Mike feels himself flush.  
  
“Shut up,” Mr. McCoy says, and the class goes silent. “I’ll forgive the tardiness this time, Mr. Cutter. You’re in the third row, fourth seat over. Connie, raise your hand.” A strikingly beautiful girl with dark brown hair and sharp cheekbones raises her hand. “The empty desk next to her, and the two of you will work together on some assignments.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Mike repeats and maneuvers over to the desk.  
  
“Hi,” Connie says with a smile. “I’m Connie Rubirosa.”  
  
“Mike Cutter.”  
  
“Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Mike says and wants to kick himself when he realizes how ridiculous it sounds. He has no time to try to save himself because Mr. McCoy has turned towards the board and is writing notes as he opens his lecture.  
  
“It’s current event day, which I know you all love, so let’s talk about China.” Mr. McCoy turns back to face the class and crosses his arms. “China has a long list of what America refers to as ‘human rights violations’-“  
  
“They are human rights violations,” from a girl in the front row.  
  
Mr. McCoy holds up a hand. “You know the rule, Ms. Kincaid. In order to try and keep an objective conversation going, there’s going to be some language you’ll disagree with when I make my explanations. May I continue?”  
  
Ms. Kincaid doesn’t look pleased, but she nods. “Fine.”  
  
“Thank you. As I was saying,” Mr. McCoy looks around the room and gives everyone a serious look. “China has long been in the dog house for human rights violations. Recently, actors have been speaking out against China for their part in funding violence in Darfur. I want you all to partner up and tell me if the sudden surge of actors making statements is good or bad and why.”  
  
Mike blinks and looks at Connie, who’s already turning her desk and adjusting her notebook and pen. “Really?”  
  
Connie grins. “Mr. McCoy says we need to learn to think laterally.” She picks up her pen and writes her name neatly on the top of her paper. “So,” she looks at Mike, and twiddles her pen. “What do you think?”  
  
“I, um, I don’t know.”  
  
“That’s not really a good answer for Mr. McCoy.” She says it nicely and scribbles something on her paper. “I’m thinking that it’s good to have attention brought to Darfur, but at the same time, it’s not like people don’t know about Darfur.”  
  
“Is it bad to hear more about it?” Mike chews on the end of his pen and looks down at his own notebook. He writes his name in the margin to do something. “Talking about it is what gets people involved.”  
  
“Like the celebrities?”  
  
“…yeah.”  
  
Connie cocks her head and watches as Mike seems to fade out of the room. “Mike?”  
  
“I…um…” Mike shakes his head and looks down at his paper. “It’s not about getting people involved.”  
  
“It isn’t?”  
  
“It’s about…” Mike looks around the room. Everyone else to talking animatedly, writing down what looks to be reams of information. He bites his lip and gives his attention back to Connie. “If it’s about China and the way they’re helping hurt people in Darfur, why isn’t it about how China hurts people all the time?”  
  
“Because they violate human rights all the time.” Connie writes furiously for a few seconds. “So it’s not about human rights really, it’s about-“  
  
“It’s attention,” Mike interrupts. “It’s about the actors bringing attention to themselves in order to make themselves look involved and important.”  
  
“Attention whoring disguised as caring?”  
  
Mike considers it. “They might actually care, but if it’s about how China responds to human rights, they should be talking about the whole picture.”  
  
“Tagging a popular, hard-hitting issue with their name makes them feel important.” Connie writes it down when Mike nods. “That’s really good.”  
  
“Thanks.” Mike smiles a little and writes the explanation in his own notebook. “I’ve read about some of it, so I kind of had it there already.”  
  
“It’s a good answer,” Connie says reassuringly. “I think you should be the one to present it.”  
  
“What?” Mike’s pen slices across the page and leaves a long black line. “You can do it. That’s okay.”  
  
Connie shakes her head. “I always have to present, and you were the one to piece it together so it sounds good.”  
  
“No, I-“ Mike stops short when a large, warm hand lands on his shoulder.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy says, pressing his hand against Mike’s shoulder. “Why don’t you start us off and break any stage fright you might have?”  
  
“…uh,” Mike clears his throat and stares up at Mr. McCoy. “I…” Mr. McCoy is watching him, and his eyes are really blue. Mike only looks away when Connie bumps his fingers with her notebook.  
  
“For the record, Mr. Cutter, I do not make requests in my class.”  
  
Mike stands quickly, knocking his ankle against his desk, and looks down at the notebook in his hand. “We, uh,” he squints at Connie’s handwriting. “We decided that actors care, but that they might not care in the right way.” He looks up at Mr. McCoy, who is standing with his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Continue, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike takes a deep breath and steals a glance at Connie, who is smiling reassuredly. “The point is, if all those actors and stuff are really concerned with the human rights’ violations China is helping cause in Darfur, why don’t they care about the other human rights violations China’s had before Darfur?”  
  
Mr. McCoy waits to see if Mike will say more. He nods when Mike looks up at him, eyes wide, and looking very much like a deer in headlights. “And that’s your argument, Mr. Cutter?”  
  
“Ye-yes, sir.” Mike feels like he can breathe more easily when Mr. McCoy nods.  
  
”Interesting take, Mr. Cutter. You can sit down.”  
  
Mike drops into his seat like a stone and doesn’t look up for the rest of class, tuning out the rest of the arguments once he realizes that they are all of the variety that disagree with him and disagree with him viciously. He doesn’t miss the dark look a few people in class throw him.  
  
The bell rings, and Mike’s the first to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder and nearly to the door before he’s stopped by Mr. McCoy’s voice.  
  
“Mr. Cutter, if you could wait just a minute.”  
  
Mike freezes in place before turning around, not missing the snickers from a couple of students as they walk by. He walks over to Mr. McCoy’s desk and stands with his hands clenched behind his back. “Did I-“  
  
“You made an excellent point today.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Mr. McCoy leans against his desk and puts his hands flat on the surface. “Headmistress Van Buren told me you’d like to join the mock trial team.”  
  
“I, um, yeah.” Mike licks his lips. “But I’m not very good with public speaking.”  
  
“You’re smart,” Mr. McCoy says flatly. “You have good ideas, and I think you have it in you to find the gray in a situation. The ability to speak in public will come. You’ve got everything else.”  
  
Mike feels himself blush, and it makes him blush harder. “I’ll think about it.”  
  
“The next meeting is Wednesday at four. There’s a special mock trial room next to the library.” Mr. McCoy catches Mike’s confused look. “The Schiffs were very good to this school.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Mike says because it seems right.  
  
“Get to class, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Mike turns on his heel and exits, feeling slightly light headed as he hurries down the hall.  
  
Lupo’s in his third hour Music Appreciation, and he slides into the desk next to him when Lupo waves him over. “Hey.”  
  
“Hey.” Lupo gives Mike a searching look. “Something up?”  
  
“Mr. McCoy asked me to join the mock trial team.”  
  
“Hey! All right!” Lupo nods in a happy way and leans against his desk. “You gonna do it?”  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t…” Mike runs a hand through his hair and looks at Lupo a little shyly. “I don’t like speaking in front of people.”  
  
Lupo pulls a face. “Me either.”  
  
“But I kind of want to do it.”  
  
“So do it.”   
  
Lupo makes it sound easy. Mike’s not sure it’s quite so simple. “I don’t know. Maybe.”


	3. One Night in the Mock Trial Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike, Jack, and a semi-late night in the mock trial room.

Ed and Lupo are doing…things that Mike doesn’t think require detailed investigation. He considers throwing his shoe at the wall, but the last time he’d tried the tactic, Ed had gleefully announced he was busy, and then Lupo had made some mildly obscene noises. Mike decides packing up his books, grabbing Ed’s spare bat and getting out of the room is a much better option.  
  
“Back later!” He yells before he closes the outer door. He cuts across the lawns to the library and heads to the basement to the mock trial room. It’s empty, as he’d expected it to be, and Mike lays out his books and notebook and considers where he was. He needs an argument for plain sight exception, and everything he’s written so far just sounds lame.  
  
Mike paces the room a few times to try and get his thoughts going, and the fifth trip to the far wall starts to make him sweat. He strips off his button-down and hangs it over the chair. It’s stuffy this late at night, and he pulls off his shoes and socks to cool off a bit further. Nothing’s coming to him, and he picks up Ed’s bat to give himself something to do. He swings it a few times and pauses to read over his books.  
  
“Mr. Cutter?”  
  
Mike nearly jumps out of his skin as he spins around to see Mr. McCoy in the doorway. “I…um…I…”  
  
“It’s a bit late to be in the building, isn’t it?”  
  
“Curfew’s not for two hours.”  
  
“That wasn’t my question.” Jack walks into the room proper and gives Mike a once over. “Glad to see you’ve discovered a use for your undershirt, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
Mike glances down at himself, slightly embarrassed. “I have my other shirt, but it’s stuffy in here.”  
  
“Which would explain your lack of shoes as well.”  
  
Mike flushes a bit. “Yeah.”  
  
Jack smiles. “They turn off the air conditioning after seven.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“You may be more comfortable in your room.”  
  
“My roommates are…distracting.”  
  
“You could work in one of the library study rooms.”  
  
Mike shakes his head. “Too many people walk by. It gets weird. I feel like a monkey with all the windows.”  
  
Jack leans against one of the tables and crosses his arms. “Then you’re stuck here.”  
  
“Looks like.” Mike swings the bat a little, feeling suddenly ridiculous with Jack watching. “My roommate, Ed, said it helps him think.”  
  
“Does it help you think?”  
  
“I dunno, but it’s…nice.” Mike thinks it’s the lamest thing he’s ever said. “I mean-“  
  
“What are you working on?” Jack interrupts before Mike can derail.  
  
“Plain sight exception argument.” Mike holds out his notebook to Jack. “I don’t think it’s very good.”  
  
“Then don’t use it.” Jack takes the notebook but places it facedown next to him. “Wing it.”  
  
Mike’s eyes go wide. “What?”  
  
“Wing it, Mr. Cutter. It’s good practice. You need to think on your feet.”  
  
“I don’t-“  
  
“Go,” Jack commands and feels successful when Mike takes a few steps and starts talking.  
  
“The issue isn’t…It’s about intent…” Mike shakes his head and starts again. “In the digital age, considerations need to be – no, that’s no good. It’s too easy to argue that the same evidence could be found by looking through records.”  
  
Jack nods. “Good. Cut it out and try again.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike gives the bat an experimental swing. It feels good, less awkward, even with Mr. McCoy watching. “The problem is that a police officer is alleged to have overstepped the bounds of the plain sight exception. The solution is to prove he didn’t.” Mike looks at Mr. McCoy, who gives him a nod. “The problem is that it wasn’t a list on a piece of paper, but a list in someone’s palm pilot.”  
  
“Did the officers violate plain view exception?” Jack watches Mike turn over the question in his head and can’t help but admire the time he gives to really consider his options. Even with the mock trial team he’s got, he still spends a great deal of time reminding the students to stop and  _consider_  all of their options.  
  
“Rules of plain view,” Mike says quietly, “the first is that the officer have a legal right to be present. The second says that ordinary senses can’t be enhanced by technology, and the third says any discovery must be by chance.”  
  
“Are the rules followed?”  
  
Mike paces back and forth in front of the white board, stopping occasionally to mull a point. He finally looks at Jack, and there’s almost a smile on his face. “Yes.”  
  
Jack raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”  
  
“You’re not,” Mike states, not stopping to think how it sounds to blandly say such a thing to a teacher. “You think I missed something.”  
  
“Rule number two,” Jack says as a lead. When Mike just stares at him, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cell phone. “Advanced technology.”  
  
Mike shakes his head. “Maybe not.” He leans his bat against the wall and walks over to his books and papers. He flips halfway through a stack of loose notes before pulling out the original case paperwork and skimming it. “It doesn’t say how old the phones are.”  
  
“Your point?”  
  
“The first palm pilot came out in 1996. The basic technology has been around for twelve years. That’s not advanced technology.” Mike grins a little. “Even if the other side argues for the possibility of the phone being newer, it doesn’t change the fact that the basic technology is, by its own industry standards, non-advanced.”  
  
Jack nods slowly and tries not to smile. “Good. Now, what’s your argument for the detective e-mailing himself the doctor’s patient list? An e-mail enabled phone isn’t as old as a palm pilot.”  
  
“But it’s not completely new either. It’s at least two years old. That’s the cycle for a person to trade in one phone for a newer model, right?” Mike doesn’t wait for Mr. McCoy to answer, plowing ahead as his thoughts line up. “The police were there to perform a lawful round of questioning in regards to a possible patient of that doctor. That doctor pulled up his patient list on his palm pilot, and then left the palm pilot face-up on his desk. The detective who grabbed the phone didn’t do anything more than push a few buttons and have it sent to his own phone.”  
  
Jack raises his eyebrows, more impressed than he lets on as he says, “And that covers rule number three?”  
  
“The doctor could have looked up his patients on his computer or with paper files which he could have kept out of view of the officers. He placed his palm pilot in a position which made it accessible to the officers and made it clear to them that he was checking his patient list. The detectives believed a person involved in the crime was a patient of that doctor, and so they had the right to use plain sight to retrieve the list of patients.” Mike stops for breath and looks at Mr. McCoy. “Yes?”  
  
It takes a moment for Jack to respond. He’s gotten caught up in Mike’s flow, in the way he paced seven steps back and forth as he walked himself through the brambles and found the clear path to a solid, useful argument. Mike’s eyes are bright, and he’s obviously pleased with himself, and Jack suddenly feels claustrophobic and unseemly sitting in a room with this seventeen-year-old boy who can put together legal rhetoric in such a quick-fire manner. Jack is impressed and pleased and proud and, he realizes as he makes an attempt to stand up straight, turned on.   
  
“Mr. McCoy?” Mike wonders why Mr. McCoy hasn’t said anything. He usually goes after an argument as soon as someone can hash it out for him. “Sir?”  
  
“It’s an excellent argument, Mr. Cutter. It needs some fine-tuning, but overall, I think you’ve got it.” Jack looks away as Mike’s eyes light up. They’re very blue and wide, and Jack feels like a dirty old man. “Finish up here and head back to your room for the night. I’m going to walk by in half an hour, and I expect to see you gone.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” and Mike can’t stop the smile that breaks across his face. “Thanks for the help.”  
  
“You barely needed it.” It should not be a turn on, Jack reminds himself, but he can’t help but look over his shoulder as he leaves the room. He pauses for a second to watch the way Mike leans over his books, eyes slightly squinty and fingers tapping the tabletop. The curve of his back in his thin, white undershirt is alluring, and Jack nearly runs into the doorframe because of the distraction.  
  
Seventeen, Jack repeats in his head as he walks down the hall. And a student. But that part seems completely pointless, and Jack’s not certain he’s comfortable with that. He’s found students attractive before, no doubt, but they were his students, and he could distance himself. His job was to teach them and help them shape their way in the world. He has a responsibility, and he takes it seriously, and no matter how pretty or handsome some student might be, he’s never broken his resolve.  
  
And now Mike Cutter has just made an argument that Jack has heard seasoned attorneys stumble through, and Jack has to fall back on his age to make the idea of chatting up Mike Cutter seem unpalatable.  
  
“Seventeen,” he says to the walls and clenches his hands in his pockets.


	4. Ed and Lupo Make a Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed, Lupo, and a long-awaited conversation.

The only warning Mike gets before Lupo barrels into his room is something that’s almost a shout, and then a few stomping footsteps. He turns in his desk chair just as Lupo flings open his door and throws himself across Mike’s bed.  
  
“Life sucks gigantic donkey balls,” Lupo announces.  
  
Mike has to fight not to laugh. He feels bad for Lupo, but the dramatics that have become part of his overall reaction to Ed are so over-the-top it’s hard not to find the humor. “What’d he do?”  
  
“He has a date.”  
  
“Oh, no.”  
  
Lupo glares at Mike’s sarcasm. “Look, man, I don’t tease you when you come home all googly-eyed over McCoy.”  
  
That shuts up Mike but good. “Sorry.”  
  
“S’okay. I just don’t know what else to do. I mean, I spend all my time with him. I don’t bust him to Van Buren, and I totally could, and I don’t know what else to do.”  
  
Mike taps his fingers against his desk chair. “You could always tell him.” It comes out a bit more snarkily than he means it to, and he grimaces a little. “Sorry.”  
  
“You suck.” Lupo, somehow, manages to sink even deeper into Mike’s mattress. “I really like him.”  
  
“I know,” and Mike is completely sympathetic. “You really should talk to him.”  
  
“When? I think he’s making out with the  _entire_  cheer squad today.”  
  
The image of Ed kissing Connie makes Mike flinch. “It can’t be the entire squad. Half of them are probably in the city today.”  
  
“You are not helping at all, man."  
  
Mike shrugs. “I’m not good at this stuff.”  
  
“No kidding,” but Lupo’s smiling a little.  
  
The outside door suddenly slams open, and Ed’s voice follows it. “Forgot my wallet!”  
  
Lupo groans into Mike’s pillow. “I hate him.”  
  
Ed looks into Mike’s room and pauses. “Hey, Lup, you okay?” Ed looks at Mike. “He okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Lupo says before Mike can pull something together. “Just…tired.”  
  
Ed walks into the room and eyes Lupo. He places a hand in the middle of Lupo’s back. “You sure you’re okay?”  
  
“Yes.” Lupo squirms at Ed’s touch and sits up. “We were just talking.” He can’t look at Ed. He looks at Mike instead. “I’m gonna go to my room for awhile.”  
  
Mike flinches. Lupo going to his room ‘for awhile’ never leads to anything good. “You sure?”  
  
“Yes,” Lupo says with no small amount of annoyance. “I do know how to make up my own mind, thanks.” He jumps off the bed and shoves past Ed; a few seconds later, the slam of his door reverberates through the suite.  
  
Ed raises his eyebrows and looks at Mike. “Did I fuck up?”  
  
“It’s…you should talk to him,” is all Mike says. He doesn’t want to betray Lupo’s trust, but he doesn’t want to leave Ed completely in the dark. “He’s frustrated.”  
  
“About-“ Ed cuts off and shakes his head. “Never mind. I’ll ask him.”  
  
Mike’s eyes go wide. “Now?”  
  
Ed shrugs. “Why not? I know where he is.”  
  
“But he’s-“  
  
“I’ve got it, man.” Ed waves off Mike’s concern. “I can handle it.”  
  
Mike’s not really sure he can, but can’t come up with a good argument against Ed trying to get Lupo to open up. “Godspeed.”  
  
“Funny.” Ed grins and walks out of Mike’s room. He stands in front of Lupo’s door and steels himself for possible cursing. “Lup?”  
  
“Fuck off!”  
  
Well, that’s accomplished, Ed thinks as he turns the knob and opens the door. Lupo’s sitting on his bed, knees up to his chest, half-facing the wall. “Hey, man, I’m sorry if I pissed you off.”  
  
“You didn’t.”  
  
“You sure? You seem pretty pissed.” Ed closes the door and stands in the middle of Lupo’s room, hands in his pockets. He’s learned over time that attempting to touch Lupo in a funk is a dangerous game. “I mean, if you’re mad at me, man, you can just tell me. We’ll-“  
  
“It’s not you.” Lupo steals a glance at Ed, and he starts to blush. “It’s just some shit I’m dealing with.”  
  
“Dude, if you’ve got shit that needs dealing, you know I’ll help.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Ed can’t quite figure out the undertone in Lupo’s voice. “Okay, Lup, seriously, just talk to me, okay? You’re kind of freaking me out here.”  
  
“You’ll be more freaked out when I’m done.”  
  
“Oh, yeah? Prove it.” Ed says it jokingly, and he’s not prepared when Lupo jumps off the bed and stalks towards him. Ed steps away until his back hits the door. “Lup?”  
  
Lupo stares at Ed and reaching out slowly, he puts his hand on the door next to Ed’s head. He leans in. “You’re gonna freak.”  
  
Ed’s breath is shuddery, and he tries to stand up straighter. “Oh, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t freak.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Ed looks into Lupo’s eyes. They’re intense and a little wild, and they’re not looking away. “Bring it on, Lup. I can take whatever you dish out.”   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Ed’s not as certain as he was a few minutes ago, but he’s never backed from a challenge. “Yeah.”  
  
Lupo leans in and kisses him, quick and nervous. He barely leaves his lips against Ed’s long enough to get a feel for anything, but he’s panting when he pulls away. He watches Ed stare at him. “Yeah. So.” The sudden grin that splits Ed’s face throws Lupo. “Ed?”  
  
“Fucking hell, man. It took you this long?” Ed touches Lupo’s side, smiling wider when he doesn’t flinch away. “Man, seriously, I’ve been waiting  _forever_.”  
  
Lupo blinks. “What?”  
  
“I didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t get a damned read off you for anything.”  
  
“What?” Lupo wonders if his brain’s skipped off the track. “What the fuck are you saying, Ed?”  
  
“I’m sayin’, Lup, that I don’t think I’m gonna need my wallet tonight.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
Ed laughs and pushes off the door to press against Lupo. “I’m not planning to leave this room tonight. That good with you?”  
  
A smile slides across Lupo’s face, crooked and genuine. “Yeah. I’m good with that.”  
  
“Fantastic.”


	5. Anita Calls out Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anita calls out Jack

Anita Van Buren is not a woman who misses much. She sees everything, no matter what Ed Green may reassure freshmen when he passes them beers. And she has certainly seen the way Jack McCoy has been watching Mike Cutter.  
  
“I have not,” Jack says, when Anita pulls him into his office for a chat.  
  
“Oh, come on, Jack.” She steeples her fingers and leans against her desk. “We’re not really going to play this game, are we?”  
  
Jack leans back in the chair Anita offered him, hard-backed and slightly slanted. He crosses his arms and tries not to think that Anita had purposefully chosen the chair for interrogation use. “What game, Anita? You’re accusing me of  _looking_  at someone? Really? What evidence do you-“  
  
“This is not the mock trial room. This is not your classroom. This is my office.” She snaps off each sentence with absolute precision. “Cut the shit.”  
  
“There’s no shit to cut.” Jack matches Anita’s stare with one of his own. “He needs practice speaking in front of people. Everyone in the room watches him when he speaks.”  
  
“Not like you watch him.”  
  
“I’m his teacher.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Jack can only look at her for a moment, the way she raises her eyebrow is infuriating. “I’m watching for slips, Anita. He has to memorize a great deal of what he-“  
  
“Jack. Really. Must we do this?”  
  
“What are we doing, Anita? All I’m hearing are vague accusations.”  
  
Anita sighs and rubs the side of her head. “Fine. I’ll un-vague the accusation. I think you have a non-educational interest in Michael Cutter.”  
  
Jack’s back straightens against the unforgiving angle of his hardback chair. He watches the way Anita leans back and waits for a rebuttal. He’s not entirely sure he has one. After a long moment of silence which he knows damns him more than any fiery response, he breathes out, uncrosses his arms, and stands. “Prove it,” he orders as he reaches for the doorknob.  
  
“Jack-“ Anita’s cut off by the clicking of the latch as he closes the door from the other side. She raises her voice. “Don’t make me do this.” She can’t hear him walk away, but she is completely certain he’s already gone.   
  
Anita considers her options. They’re few and fragile. She can let it lie and trust Jack to act in a responsible manner. She can call him on it again to see if he changes his story. She can pull Jack out of the classroom on suspicions that she has but will ruin his career whether she’s right or wrong. Her hunches are usually dead-on. Coupled with Jack’s reaction, she knows she’s on the right track, but to jump the gun when all she has is the way he can’t look away when Michael Cutter speaks, and the fact that Jack is acting as prickly as always, it’s not enough for her to do something as disruptive as yank him off the job.  
  
She leans back into her chair and breathes deeply. If she’d really wanted to pursue the issue, she knows she would have stopped Jack from leaving. She wonders on her own fondness for the man and how much it could be affecting her.


	6. Mike and Lupo Confess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Lupo confess.

Lupo wakes up from a dream that’s mostly haze and rolls out of bed in need of a glass of water. He’s halfway across the living room to the bathroom, when he hears a thump from Mike’s room. He pauses, listening for anything else that might tell him Mike’s been hurt.  
  
“Jack.”  
  
It’s barely a whisper through Mike’s door, and Lupo knows that he wasn’t meant to hear it. He’s still standing in place, one foot on the area rug from Ed’s grandma, one foot on the tile, when Mike’s door opens. There’s a long moment where Lupo just stares at Mike and watches Mike stares back at him.  
  
“I didn’t hear anything,” and as soon as it’s out, Lupo knows it’s the completely wrong thing to say. Someone who hadn’t actually heard something wouldn’t have said anything.  
  
Mike blinks a few times and tries to loosen the death grip he has on his doorknob. “Hey, Lupo,” he says because he has no idea what to do. “I was-“  
  
“I have a thing for Ed,” Lupo says quickly. “He doesn’t know.”  
  
“…Okay.” Mike finally manages to release his grip on his doorknob. “You’re telling me this-“  
  
“Because if you know that, then I can’t tell anyone about…” Lupo scratches at his neck. “Whoever Jack is.”  
  
“He’s…” Mike finds it impossible to say anything but the truth when he sees the concern and fear in Lupo’s eyes. “It’s Mr. McCoy.” He flushes when Lupo’s eyes go wide. “Yeah. I know. I can’t really-“  
  
“It’s cool. I mean, I get it. I mean…Ed.” Lupo scrubs at his hair in frustration. “That was supposed to be understandable.”  
  
“I got it,” Mike says, and he means it.  
  
“Okay,” Lupo says and endures twenty seconds of very awkward silence before finally finishing his trip to the bathroom for a drink of water. When he walks back into the living room, Mike is sitting on the couch and staring at his hands. “I’m gonna-“ Lupo starts, only to have Mike cut him off.  
  
”I can’t talk to anyone about it,” Mike says quietly. “It’s weird, you know? Having a thing for a teacher. Especially one who isn’t Coach Benson.”  
  
“Uh, yeah.”  
  
Mike looks up from his hands. “Sorry. You don’t have to listen to this.”  
  
And Mike removing his responsibility makes Lupo want to listen. Mike needs a friend, and Lupo could certainly use someone who won’t mind listening to him talk about Ed. “It’s cool. I have really bad taste too.”  
  
Mike laughs a little at that and shifts over on the couch when Lupo sits next to him. “Ed’s cool.”  
  
“Ed’s hetero.” Lupo squints at the opposite wall. “I think.”  
  
“You don’t know?”  
  
Lupo shrugs. “Ed’s hard to read. He likes everyone.”  
  
“That’s true.” Mike slides a glance at Lupo, who seems to be trying very hard not to look at Mike at all. “I don’t want to like Mr. McCoy.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Mike blinks. Lupo turns his head to look at him, and Mike can see that he’s completely serious. “He’s a teacher.”  
  
“Teachers can be cool.”  
  
“I shouldn’t want to have sex with one.”  
  
Lupo’s face twists into something between a grimace and a scowl. “I’m kind of messed up.”  
  
“Huh?” It’s unintelligent, but it’s all Mike’s got.  
  
Lupo shifts so that he’s leaning against one of the couch arms. “My parents suck. I’ve got a brother who’s cool, but I don’t get to see him a lot. Van Buren makes me see Dr. Skoda every Thursday because I had some stuff happen when I first got here.”  
  
“Stuff?”  
  
“I got into a lot of fights.”  
  
Mike grins a little, not surprised, but smart enough not to say anything. “Gotcha.”  
  
“So I go see Skoda, and I talk about all my shit, and Skoda tells me I’m making progress and crap.” Lupo looks away from Mike and stares at the coffee table. “And Dr. Skoda’s got a really hot student intern named George, and I tried to make a move.”  
  
“It didn’t work out?”  
  
Lupo gives Mike a self-deprecating smirk. “It didn’t do anything. I told him, he looked really awkward, and I didn’t bring it up again.”   
  
“Ouch.”  
  
“Pretty much, but I get it, you know, the whole inappropriate thing.”  
  
“Did you get over it?”  
  
“I got fixated on Ed pretty quick.” Lupo’s smirk goes from self-deprecating to amused. “And here we are.”  
  
Mike chuckles dryly. “Yeah. I don’t really have crushes.”  
  
Lupo snorts. “C’mon, man. Don’t bullshit.”  
  
“I’m serious. I moved a lot. There wasn’t any point trying to get fixated on anyone.” Mike shakes his head and himself when Lupo rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I know.”  
  
“Mr. McCoy,” Lupo says and giggles.  
  
“Yeah. Thanks. I know I’m sad.”  
  
Lupo sobers immediately. “Sorry,” he says quietly and watches the way Mike doesn’t quite look at him.   
  
“I just thought he was nice at first,” Mike aims his confession at the couch cushions. “I don’t know what happened. I mean, seriously, I’m not an idiot. I know it’s a stupid crush, but I can’t shake it off.”  
  
“I get it,” Lupo says with a meaningful look at Ed’s door.   
  
“You’ve got a better chance than me.”  
  
“Yeah. Sure.”  
  
Mike shrugs. “Whatever. At least if you tell Ed, he won’t get arrested for statutory rape.”  
  
“Age of consent in New York is 17.” Lupo waves away Mike’s surprised look. “You’re not the only one who can look things up, you know.”  
  
“Guess not,” Mike says and ducks away when Lupo wings a pillow at him. He grabs the pillow from the floor and sticks it behind his head. “Thanks, Lupo.”  
  
“Sure, man.” Lupo stands and stretches. He gives Mike a considering look. “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. I mean, it doesn’t skeeve me or anything.”  
  
“No?”  
  
“Nah. I mean, shit, considering some of the shit in the world, you’re fucking normal.”  
  
That makes Mike laugh. “Thanks. I think.”  
  
“No problem. ‘Night, man.”  
  
“’Night.”


	7. Jack Starts to Lose It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack starts to lose it.

Jack’s halfway through an explanation on exactly how to approach a witness on the stand when the door opens and Mike comes stumbling in. Jack looks at him, ready to say something amused but cutting, something any teacher might say to any student, and he stops short when he gets a good look at Mike.  
  
Mike is panting, his mouth open, and his shirt is damp, wet spots outlining part of his upper arm, his left shoulder, and most damningly, his right nipple. It takes a second for Jack to look away from the sight of it and at Mike’s face again. Mike’s just staring at him, still panting, and looks slightly worried.  
  
“Coach Fin wanted to talk to me after practice,” Mike says, almost stuttering.  
  
Say something, Jack urges himself. Say anything. He needs something neutral. Something that won’t come off as lustful or crude. “Undershirt, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
Mike looks down at himself. Jack forces his focus to stay on Mike’s face. He finds the end of his willpower when Mike drops his bag, strips off his button-down, and then rummages around in his backpack before pulling out his sweater and sliding it over his head.  
  
Life is completely unfair, Jack thinks when Mike gets momentarily caught, and there’s nothing to see but the toned, pale expanse of Mike’s chest. The nipple through the shirt was bad enough, but now Jack is getting a full view of both nipples, peaked in the cool air of the room, and it’s his undoing. He has to pull himself together, and he has to do it now.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Jack walks over to a bookshelf and pulls out two law reviews at random. “For your tardiness, you’re on research today.” Mike’s disappointed groan makes Jack’s breath catch. “Get on it,” he orders, as he turns around and drops the books on Mike’s usual table. “I’ll be back in a moment.”  
  
Mike tries to say something, most likely an apology, but Jack heads out the door before Mike can get his attention again. Jack makes it to the faculty bathroom and flips the lock with more force than necessary, but he’s beyond caring as he unzips his slacks, pulls out his cock, and starts jerking himself with a quick, harsh stroke.  
  
This is wrong. He shouldn’t be jerking off to thoughts of Mike Cutter damp from the pool, on his knees, and sucking him off. He should not be wanting to hold Mike Cutter after class, back him against a wall, and kiss him until he’s panting like he was when he walked in the room. He should not want Mike Cutter to slide onto his desk, spread his legs, and ask if they can talk as he skims a hand over his crotch. He is a teacher. Mike is a student. He is a professional. The idea of an inexperienced but passionate blowjob should not make him-  
  
Jack grunts and bites down on his lip and comes into his own hand. He slumps against the door and breathes hard, staring at the spunk cooling in his palm. “Fuck,” he says quietly. He turns on the faucet with his left hand and lets his right rest under the tap. He stares at himself in the mirror. “Stop this,” he tells himself sternly. “He’s seventeen.”   
  
And beautiful. And smart.  
  
“Stop that.” Jack washes his hands properly, wipes a damp paper towel over his face, and zips himself back into his slacks. “He’s seventeen,” he says again because he needs to hear it. And then he unlocks the door.  
  
Anita is standing by his desk when he comes back in the room. She gives him the laser sights stare that never ends well and looks pointedly at Mike. Jack follows her gaze, trying to stay calm, and gets lost for a moment watching Mike fiddle with the collar of his sweater. Jack imagines it itches without anything under it. Only Anita clearing her throat makes him snap out of it.  
  
“If you have a moment, Mr. McCoy.” It’s in a tone that doesn’t make it a suggestion, not that Anita would have made it one anyway.  
  
“Of course,” Jack says, and is ridiculously proud that his voice doesn’t sound any different than usual. He follows Anita into the hall and crosses his arms as he leans against the wall. “Yes?”  
  
“Knock it off,” Anita snaps. She crosses her arms to match Jack, except her back is ramrod straight. “We talked about this.”  
  
“About what?” He’ll admit to nothing unless absolutely forced.  
  
Anita rolls her eyes. “I’ve got enough schoolboys to deal with, Jack. Don’t do this.”  
  
“I’m not doing anything,” Jack argues. “I stepped out to use the bathroom. Where’s the fire?” Anita very pointedly looks at Jack’s crotch. “Very mature.”  
  
“Jack-“  
  
“It’s fine, Anita.”  
  
She uncrosses her arms to put her hands on her hips. “Jack-“  
  
“It’s fine,” Jack repeats. “And, for the record, he’s getting another demerit for lack of undershirt.” He watches her as she considers arguing. Her face doesn’t change much, but he can read the set of her shoulders and the wariness in her eyes.  
  
“Be careful, Jack.” It’s said with more softness and concern than any other part of the conversation.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says for a third time, but he doesn’t believe it. He can tell Anita doesn’t buy it either.  
  
“I’ll leave you to it then.”   
  
She walks away, heels clicking on the tile, and Jack breathes out through his nose before steeling himself and walking back into the room. Mike looks up when he enters, and Jack makes a point to not make eye contact. He’s in a bad place, he knows, and looking at Mike will only make it worse. “Eyes on your work, Mr. Cutter,” he says, and walks to his desk. Mike’s shoulders slump, and guilt throbs in Jack’s stomach.  
  
Better than throbbing elsewhere, Jack thinks as he sits and starts leafing through papers. He doesn’t look up for the next hour and only acknowledges everyone when they say their goodbyes and head for dinner. Jack doesn’t miss the fact that Mike shuffles slowly out of the room, obviously hoping Jack will call him back.  
  
“Goodnight, Mr. Cutter,” Jack says sharply to hasten the exit. He finally looks up when the door clicks shut and rubs at his eyes, more in an attempt to relax than because of any tiredness. He’s wide awake, unfortunately, body still thrumming from earlier, and Jack curses under his breath as he pulls another stack of paper towards himself. At least he can finish some grading if his body isn’t ready to give up just yet.


	8. Mike and Connie Get a Bit Awkward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Connie get a bit awkward.

Connie is smart, and she’s pretty, and she seems to genuinely like when Mike talks to her and only looks mildly confused when Mike tells her he likes to watch her do cartwheels on the sidelines.  
  
“I’m sorry?” She can’t help but smile a little when Mike blushes.  
  
“That came out wrong.”  
  
“I thought maybe it had.” She’s going to poke him in the ribs to watch him squirm, but when she leans in, he turns his head and kisses her. It just misses the mark, landing to the left of her mouth, but she jerks away. “Mike-“  
  
“You’re smart,” he says hurriedly. “And you’re pretty. And I…I like you.” The last part is said in a rush, because Mike’s not sure it’ll come out otherwise.  
  
“Mike, I…” Connie can’t stand to watch his face fall, and she leans against his arm so he’ll look at her again. “You’re really nice.”  
  
“Sure,” he says and looks down at his shoes. “But I’m not-“  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t really thought about it.”  
  
“Oh,” Mike is still staring at his shoes. “I thought, maybe…”  
  
It amazes Connie how inarticulate Mike can be when he’s not trying to make a point. “You’re really nice, Mike.” She watches him blush, and it’s cute. He’s cute. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to kiss him, she supposes, so she leans in and pecks him on the cheek.  
  
Mike’s head snaps up, and he just looks at her for a few seconds. “Connie?”  
  
She kisses him again, this time on the mouth, and he kisses her back. It’s not bad, Connie thinks. Mike presses against her front a little, and he puts his hand on her waist to steady himself. It’s like a blast of cold air to Connie’s system. Mike’s hand feels like a stone, just hanging there with no rush that tells her things are about to get exciting. Connie pulls away and it’s telling that Mike doesn’t try to follow her.  
  
“This was a bad idea,” Mike says before Connie can frame anything that sounds nice and not condescending.  
  
“Yeah,” Connie says after a moment. “You’re a nice guy, Mike.”  
  
“Sure.” Mike steps backwards and rubs his lips together to dry them. “I shouldn’t-“  
  
“We’re still friends,” Connie says quickly, because she wants it to be true. “We can’t have an awkward break-up if we haven’t dated.”  
  
It takes a minute, but then Mike smiles. “I guess not.”  
  
Connie loops her arm through his and tugs lightly. “Good. Wanna grab dinner with me?”  
  
Mike considers begging off and going to talk with Ed and Lupo, but he’s not entirely sure where they are, and he’s almost half-sure that whatever they might be doing doesn’t need to be interrupted, so he just nods and lets Connie lead him along.  
  
“Mike?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“I meant what I said, about us still being friends.”  
  
Connie is smart. And pretty. And Mike wishes just a little that he could appreciate that in more than an academic context. “Thanks, Connie.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”


	9. The First Night in the Mock Trial Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike, Jack, and proper introductions.

His hands are sweaty when he reaches for the doorknob. Mike breathes deep and resettles his backpack before he pushes forward and steps into the mock trial room. Mr. McCoy is sitting behind a desk, reading glasses balanced precariously on his nose, and there are a dozen people scattered around the room busily scribbling into notebooks and flipping the pages of huge reference books.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy greets without looking up from his papers. “I thought we might see you today.”  
  
“I was,” Mike pauses to clear his throat and tries not to notice how the whole room is watching him. “Is there still a place on the team?”  
  
“Of course.” Jack stands, rounds his desk, and gestures to the room at large. “We’ve been covering search and seizure. What do you know about it?”  
  
“Searches can only be held under lawful circumstances. Warrants must have probable cause and be limited in their scope. You can’t bust into a house looking for body parts and take somebody’s date book because there’s blood on it.” Mike stops when he realizes he’s being watched by everyone in the room. Only Mr. McCoy doesn’t look mildly weirded out. “I have a lot of time to read,” Mike says to his shoes.  
  
“Good to hear,” Jack says as he pushes back a smile. He walks back to his desk and shifts some papers. “I’ve been trying to get someone to take on a plain view exception motion. Detective Smith and Detective Jones were questioning Dr. Thomas, who used his Blackberry to look up his patient list. He left the Blackberry face up on his desk, and Detective Jones e-mailed the patient list to his own phone.” Jack holds out the folder to Mike. “So, violation?”  
  
Mike flips open the folder and skims the first few paragraphs. “No.”  
  
Jack raises his eyebrows at Mike’s certainty. “You’re going to need to back that with evidence.”   
  
“I can.” Mike looks up from the papers and almost steps back at the look Mr. McCoy has pinned on him. “I can,” he says again.  
  
“I believe you, Mr. Cutter.” Jack blinks at the sudden shining smile from Mike Cutter. It throws him a little. He gets look of respect and fear, a few looks of disdain, and the occasional wide doe eyes of a crushing sophomore, but he’s never gotten a smile quite like the one Mike Cutter is giving him now. “Case files and books on search and seizure are in the far corner.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Jack watches him walk across the room and study the titles on the books. “Where’s your argument?” He asks because that smile is still burned in his mind.  
  
“I don’t know yet.”  
  
It’s brazen, and Jack should discourage it. He should explain how to piece an argument together before determining whether or not it’s possible to win with it. “And you think you can win?”  
  
Mike turns around, half-crouched at the bookshelf. “I know I can argue.”  
  
“What about your fear of public speaking, Mr. Cutter?”  
  
Mike looks around the room. No one is actively watching, but he knows they’re listening. It’s in the way everyone’s very studiously staring away from him. He takes a book from the shelf and walks back over to Mr. McCoy’s desk. “Public speaking is different than arguing a point,” he whispers.  
  
“I wanted you to argue a point in class on Monday,” Jack whispers back.  
  
“You wanted an opinion with no backing facts on Monday, and you wanted it really quickly.” Mike grimaces at the memory. “I don’t like that.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“You can’t put together a good argument in less than ten minutes.”  
  
Jack grins at the way Mike says it like it’s a known fact. “No?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Jack can see he believes it. “I think you’ll do well on this team, Mr. Cutter. I place a lot of emphasis on taking the time to craft an argument.”  
  
Mike smiles a little. “I like crafting arguments.”  
  
“Then get to work.” Jack sits down at his desk and watches Mike settle himself at his own table near the back of the room. He makes a mental note to ask Anita about Mike Cutter’s background. He can’t help but wonder what kind of life caused Mike Cutter to like, at the age of seventeen, crafting arguments. There’s a sense of displacement that Jack can practically see hanging over his shoulders like a blanket, and Jack hopes that he can help shake it lose by the time Mike Cutter has decided he’s done crafting his argument.


	10. One Night in Jack's Classroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, Mike, the lead-up gets a pay off.

Jack takes off his reading glasses when he hits the bottom of his ‘to grade’ quiz pile. He squints at his watch and looks up sharply when there’s a crash in the hallway. He’s halfway to his feet when his classroom door flies open, and he’s face-to-face with Mike Cutter.  
  
“I want to talk to you.”  
  
Mike’s voice is slurred, and Jack’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. “Mr. Cutter, have you been drinking?”  
  
“My name is Mike.”  
  
Jack’s eyebrows slide just a bit higher. “Okay. Mike, have you been drinking?”  
  
“Just…” Mike trails off and looks around the room. Everything’s just a touch hazy. The corners of everything look softer than they should. “Whiskey. I had whiskey.”  
  
“And where did you get the whiskey?”  
  
“The ceiling.”   
  
Jack’s taken aback for a moment and decides trying to puzzle it out isn’t the important aspect of this odd little meeting. He rounds his desk and watches Mike sway in place. “What brings you here, Mr. Cu-Mike?”  
  
“I kissed Connie.” Mike says it like he has a bad taste in his mouth. “And we’re friends.”  
  
“Did you fight?”  
  
“No,” Mike says, obviously irritated that Jack hasn’t caught on. “We’re friends.”  
  
“Okay,” Jack says because it’s neutral. “So why are you here?”  
  
“I’ve jerked off in your chair.”   
  
There’s a long, hot pause wherein Jack is certain he can feel every bit of his blood angle for his groin. “Mr. Cutter, I think it’s best you go back to your room and sleep off your buzz.” He is surprised to find that his voice is even.  
  
“I’ve jerked off in your chair,” Mike repeats. “And I thought about you walking in and seeing me.” He takes three stumbling steps towards Jack and pauses when the room starts to spin. “You’d lean against the door and watch me.”  
  
Before Jack can say anything in response, Mike takes another step, trips over his feet, and falls against Jack. It’s only the desk at Jack’s back that keeps him from tumbling, and he grabs at Mike’s arms to steady him. “Mr.-“  
  
”It’s Mike.”   
  
And then Mike’s pressing forward and up and before Jack can dodge, Mike’s kissing Jack at the corner of his mouth. It’s messy and awkward, and it makes Jack’s blood flare in his veins. “Mike,” Jack presses out between his teeth. He tries to step away, but Mike is still pressed against him, and Jack stumbles and bumps against his chair. Another push from Mike, and he’s sitting in his chair as Mike climbs onto him and kisses him again. “This-“ it’s as far as Jack gets before Mike kisses him full on the mouth.  
  
It’s been weeks of frustration. Weeks of being so damned proper and in charge. Weeks of Mike running into mock trial, nearly late from swim practice, with damp hair and no undershirt and weeks of Jack trying to remind himself, with every demerit for improper uniform, that this is a very bad idea.  
  
There’s only so much a man can take, Jack decides, as he grips the back of Mike’s head and takes control of the kiss. Mike groans into his mouth, and Jack thrusts his tongue deeper.  
  
Mike wrenches away and looks at Jack, and Jack wonders if he’s lucid at all or if he’s just drunk enough that he’s willing to pretend like he was just a bit more drunk than he actually is. “I…”   
  
Jack tries to unclench his hand from Mike’s hair. He wants to dive back in, take Mike’s mouth, get his other hand to Mike’s waistband and get him out of his pants. But he’s not a bad person, occasional gray moments aside, and he’s ready for Mike to step away and run off and leave him to contemplate how he’ll ever keep a straight face ever again.  
  
And then Mike rubs on Jack like the most obscene cat in the world and bites his bottom lip and digs his fingers into Jack’s shoulders. “Please,” he pants.  
  
“Yes,” Jack hisses and throws back his head when Mike bites at his neck. “Yes,” he says again as he uses his free hand to work Mike’s belt. He can’t get a good grip; Mike keeps sliding and slipping and scraping his teeth at Jack’s neck. The rhythm is driving Jack crazy, and all he can picture is lying down on his bed, Mike above him with the same slick rock of his hips.  
  
“Please,” Mike whispers again, his breath gusting out onto Jack’s neck.  
  
Jack clenches his hand against Mike’s belt as Mike picks up speed and pressure, the tented place on his slacks sliding over Jack’s groin and belly again and again. Jack pulls at Mike’s hair until Mike lifts his head. Mike’s eyes are hazy, and Jack can’t tell if it’s from the booze or the way Mike keeps sliding against him. “Mike-“  
  
“Please.”  
  
“Tell me,” Jack sucks in a breath as Mike stops moving and just presses down, right over Jack’s crotch. “You know what you’re doing,” Jack says as his fingers clench again.  
  
Mike rearranges himself, knees settling more firmly near Jack’s hips, backside pressing tight against Jack’s groin. “Jack,” he whispers. “Give me-“ his hands press into Jack’s sides, and he’s leaning in, mouth half-open, eyes on Jack’s mouth. “I called you Jack.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Jack reassures. “We won’t tell anyone.” And he’s pressing his hips up, trying to get a more of everything. The pressure from Mike’s backside, the warmth of Mike’s front, the feel of Mike’s breath as he makes contact and slides his tongue into Jack’s mouth in a messy, loose kiss that makes Jack pant and grab hard at Mike’s side. “Harder,” he insists around Mike’s tongue. Mike pushes down, and Jack groans. “Yes,” he breathes and finally gets Mike’s belt undone. He pops the button on Mike’s slacks and gets the zipper half down before Mike seems to catch up and bumps into his hand.  
  
“More.”  
  
It’s barely more than a strangled noise, but Jack hears it clearly and gets his hand into Mike’s pants, fingers skimming along Mike’s erection as Mike gasps and kisses Jack harder. Jack kisses back and drops his hand from Mike’s hair to start working him out of his pants. He has them halfway down Mike’s thighs when Mike grits his teeth and yells and comes all over Jack’s hand.  
  
Jack rocks his hips a few more times, holding Mike in place with a hand on his back, and it feels like an eternity of Mike panting in his ear and nuzzling against his neck before Jack gets his own orgasm.  
  
There’s a stretch of silence, save for panting and Jack’s own wild thoughts of special hells and possible disgrace. Then, suddenly, Mike is scrambling off of him, and before Jack can form the right words to keep him in the room until he is at least presentable, Mike is vomiting into his wastebasket.  
  
The whiskey. Right.  
  
Jack forces himself to stand and head for the door. “Stay here,” he says to Mike, but it’s not quite an order. His voice is too shaky for an order. He makes it down the hall to the faculty lounge and fills a coffee cup with water. When he gets back to his room, Mike is still hunched over the wastebasket. Jack hands him the water and finds aspirin in his desk. “Rinse out your mouth. Take the aspirin. Drink the rest of the water.”  
  
Mike obliges silently, and Jack slides down the desk to land in an uncoordinated heap on the floor. He leans his head back and closes his eyes. There’s a chance, slim and ridiculous, that this is all just a very vivid dream.   
  
“Mr. McCoy?”  
  
And there’s a chance Jack really is headed for a very special hell. “I was Jack ten minutes ago.” He opens his eyes and looks at Mike. “Unless that’s too weird now.”  
  
“I think,” Mike pauses to cough and spat into the wastebasket. “I didn’t plan this.”  
  
“Things such as this are very rarely planned, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
“I was Mike ten minutes ago.”  
  
The tone of it, sarcasm and a hint of waspish annoyance, makes Jack smile. “You were.” He closes his eyes again. Not to escape, but to have a moment to order his thoughts. He’s stifled in the attempt by Mike leaning next to him, his arm warm against Jack’s, and his foot pressing against Jack’s leg. “You’re my student.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“You’re seventeen.”  
  
“Not for much longer.”  
  
“The point stands, Mike.” Jack opens his eyes and turns his head to look at Mike straight on. “The fact that you showed up drunk-“  
  
“Was not.”   
  
It’s a petulant voice that makes Jack even more aware of Mike’s age, of their differences, of the complete and utter stupidity that’s taken over his higher functions. Like thinking. And acting like a goddamned adult. “The point is-“  
  
“I really do like you.” Mike shifts a bit more, maneuvers himself so that Jack’s arm is around his shoulder and his head is resting on Jack’s collarbone. “You treat me like an adult.”  
  
“I should treat you like a student.” Jack watches Mike take small sips of his water. “You’re brilliant. You’re mature. You’re well-spoken and hard to intimidate, and in another few years, people will fall at your feet to do anything you ask.” Jack watches Mike shove a hand through his hair and wonders how many nights that singular image will keep him occupied. “This isn’t right, Mike. Not morally, not ethically, and not legally.”  
  
“Age of consent in New York State is 17.”  
  
“I’m 39, Mike. There’s no argument for affirmative defense.”  
  
“I wanted this,” Mike says angrily, head pressing harder against Jack’s collarbone as Jack tries to get away. “I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and think I made a mistake.”  
  
“You don’t know that yet.”   
  
“I-“  
  
“I’m still your teacher. You’re still my student. Even if you were 18 the ethical ramifications of this can’t be ignored.” Jack frees his arm from behind Mike and heaves himself off the floor. “This is a serious breach, and I shouldn’t-“  
  
“I wanted it.”  
  
It almost breaks Jack, the cold honesty in Mike’s voice. He looks down at him and has to look away again when he realizes Mike hasn’t done up his pants. “You need to go back to your room and go to bed. Sleep off the rest of the whiskey and make up your mind with a clear head.”  
  
Mike pulls himself off the floor and breathes out hard through his nose. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I like you. I want you to still be here. I-I’m sorry.”  
  
Jack shakes his head and holds up his hands. “Don’t apologize. This is my mistake. This isn’t your fault.”  
  
“This isn’t a mistake.” Mike steps forward and frowns when Jack steps back. “This is just…it’s awkward. It’s bad timing.”  
  
“It’s a violation. I shouldn’t…but you…” Jack takes another step back. “Go back to the dorms, Mike. I can only be so irresponsible in one night, and I’ve already gone above and beyond.”  
  
Mike smiles a little and tries to hide it. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“You don’t regret it, do you?” It’s a brazen question, and Mike’s prepared to get hit hard with a put-down that will flay his skin from his bones.  
  
“No,” Jack says quietly. “No, I don’t.”  
  
The resignation in Jack’s voice burns more than any put-down Mike could have imagined. He doesn’t want Jack to hate this, doesn’t want Jack to hate him. Doesn’t want Jack to hate himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class,” he says in a rush and heads for the door.  
  
Jack listens to his footfalls in the hallway and places his hands on his desk. He considers his options, none of them particularly appealing, and at least one painfully dangerous. He stares at the stack of graded quizzes. He stares at his reading glasses. He stares at his desk chair. He thinks about ethics and responsibilities and professional distance.  
  
He wonders just how hard and far Anita is going to kick his ass when she finds out that she was right to worry all along. He wonders how hard and far he’ll kick it himself before she gets the chance to aim her boot.  
  
The coffee mug is still on the floor. Jack bends down and picks it up and carries it back to the lounge to empty and rinse it. He places it on the drying rack and wipes his hands on his pants and finds himself unable to walk back into his room when he heads back down the hall.


	11. Ed and Lupo have a Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed, Lupo, and some tingles.

“Slow down!” Lupo yells, arm shooting out to block a guy as he comes shooting down the hall.  
  
“Hey! Watch it!” The guy gives Lupo a dirty look. “I didn’t do anything.”  
  
“You were running,” Lupo says evenly.  
  
“Was not.”  
  
Lupo smirks a little. “I saw you running.”  
  
“Yeah? You and who else?” The guy shakes off Lupo’s arm and shoves against his shoulder.   
  
Lupo stumbles back and bounces against the wall. He holds up his hands as the guy advances. “Calm down, buddy. You just need to walk, not run.”  
  
“I’m already running late, and then you get up in my face. Just because you’re Van Buren’s little pet-“  
  
And suddenly the guy is getting dragged sideways, and all Lupo can see is the top of Ed’s head and the anger in the guy’s face. Lupo can only watch as Ed manhandles the guy against the opposite wall and holds him there with a hand to his shoulder.   
  
“You okay?” Ed’s panting and his eyes are a bit wild. “Lup? You okay?”  
  
“I…yeah,” Lupo mutters and can’t seem to look away from the tense line of Ed’s upper arm. “He was just-“  
  
“He was being a dick.” Ed says it to the guy. “Now apologize.”  
  
The guy sneers at Lupo. “Sorry you’re Van Buren’s pet.”  
  
Lupo can’t move fast enough to keep Ed from bouncing the guy against the wall. “Ed, dude, cut it out.”  
  
“Apologize,” Ed says again, his eyes boring holes into the guy. “And do it right.”  
  
The guy looks mildly frightened, and he blinks repeatedly at Ed before looking at Lupo again. “Sorry, man.”  
  
“Sure,” Lupo says and grabs at Ed’s wrist. “Now let him go.”  
  
Ed releases the guy obligingly and watches him hurry away down the hall. “Dick.”  
  
Lupo stares at Ed for a moment and only snaps to his senses when Ed stares back. “The hell?”  
  
“He was swinging at you.”  
  
“Was not.”  
  
“Was too.”  
  
“Was not.”  
  
“Was too.”  
  
“He shoved you.”  
  
Lupo shrugs. “I’m a hall monitor. I get shoved.”  
  
“That is so not cool.”  
  
The way Ed says it, like he is honestly offended, all Lupo can do is blink. “It’s…it’s okay.” He shifts a little when Ed keeps staring at him. “What?”  
  
Ed shakes his head. “Nothing.” He looks down. Lupo’s hand is still on his wrist. “I’m not gonna hit anybody.”  
  
Lupo looks down and pulls away his hand, shoving it in his pocket and backing away. “Yeah. Sorry.”  
  
“It’s,” Ed looks down at his shoes and worries his lower lip. “It’s okay. I just…he shouldn’t have messed with you.”  
  
Lupo can’t fight back his grin, crooked and wide across his face. “Dude. Hall monitor.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“And you’re late.”  
  
Ed gives Lupo his best grin. “Free pass?”  
  
“Do you even-“ Lupo shakes his head when Ed just grins again. “Of course not.” He sighs. “Fine. Go.”  
  
“You rock, Lup.” Ed thumps him on the shoulder with the side of his fist and heads down the hall. “See you at dinner.”  
  
“See you.” Lupo watches him walk away. He takes his hand out of his pocket and rubs his fingers together. It doesn’t stop the tingles that are still sparking off all over his body.


	12. Boys Being Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed, Lupo, and Mike in the suite.

Mike steps out of his bedroom, fighting the temptation to cross his arms over his chest. He doesn’t fight the slouch, but he manages not to press his knees together. “So?” He asks Ed and Lupo, who are sitting on the couch playing Halo.   
  
Ed’s the first to look over, after pumping a fist in the air to declare his victory. He lets out a short laugh, and quickly shuts his mouth. The grin is still easy to read.  
  
“You look like a dumbass,” Lupo says.  
  
“Thank,” Mike says dryly.   
  
“It’s not that bad,” Ed offers, now trying to hide his smile with his hand. “It’s kinda small.”  
  
“It cuts water resistance,” Mike ignores the urge to pull at his speedo and try to make it cover more general area. “I hope it’s more comfortable when it’s wet.”  
  
“You’re really gonna do swim team?” Lupo asks it in the same tone he always uses when talking about any sort of team sports. Like he’s had a drink of half-sour milk and trying to hide it.  
  
“I like swimming, and every time I run into Coach Fin at the pool, he practically orders me to join.” Mike shrugs, and it somehow makes his swimsuit ride up a little. “And it’s mostly individual events.”  
  
“Dude, seriously, put on pants or something.” Ed holds up his hand to block the view of Mike. “I’m afraid your junk’s gonna fall out.”  
  
“You’re afraid?” Mike says, mostly to himself as he backs into his room and switches out his swimsuit for a pair of pajama pants. He walks back into the living room and throws himself into an armchair with his Lit book, a notebook, and a pen. He watches Ed and Lupo chase each other around a huge field. “Don’t you guys have homework?”  
  
“Yes, Mom,” Ed and Lupo intone together.  
  
Mike rolls his eyes. “Forget I said anything.” He starts to read, the general noise of Ed and Lupo cursing and bickering fading into the background as he makes notes and tries to decipher the note he’d scrawled in the margain when Mr. Goren had said something in class. “Have you guys read the assignment for Lit?”  
  
“Dude, that’s not due until Tuesday.” Ed suddenly lunges into Lupo. “Yes! You’re dead!”  
  
Mike doesn’t miss the way Lupo gets flushed. He manages to catch Lupo’s eye and give him a sympathetic smile. Lupo just grimaces. “So you haven’t started on the reading?” He asks Ed to pull his attention away from Lupo.  
  
“Nope.” Ed reaches under the couch and pulls out a slightly dusty controller. “Seriously, Mike, take five. It’s Thursday. Homework’s not due until Tuesday. Relax.” He tosses the controller to Mike. “Spend some time murdering Lup. It’s good stress relief.”  
  
”Fuck you,” Lupo says in a friendly way.  
  
Mike grins at that and closes his Lit book. “Fine. But I can’t stay up too late. I’ve got a long day tomorrow.”  
  
“New rule!” Ed declares as he restarts the Xbox to add Mike to the melee. “No saying shit someone’s dad would say.”  
  
“I do not-“  
  
“You do,” Lupo cuts him off. “I’m with Ed on this, man. You gotta relax.”  
  
“I joined the swim team.”  
  
“Adding shit to your college application doesn’t count.” Lupo stands and stretches. “Let me grab a soda, and I’ll show you dicks how it’s done.”  
  
“Big words, Lup,” Ed challenges, and laughs when Lupo flips him the bird. “Classy.”  
  
“Your mom’s classy.”  
  
“Your face is classy.”  
  
It’s a long-running, juvenile joke, and Mike knows how to end it. “Prove it.”  
  
Ed and Lupo cheer. “It’s a start,” Ed says with a grin and catches the soda Lupo tosses to him. “Now you just have to break some rules.”  
  
”Pass,” Mike says and holds out his hand for a soda. “I think you’re doing just fine without my help.”  
  
“I am something of a master.”  
  
“You’re something of a cheater,” Lupo says as he retakes his spot on the couch. “Just because I live here-“  
  
“And Van Buren loves me-“  
  
“Sure,” Lup says, rolling his eyes. “You’re a prince.”  
  
“Hey, you love me.”  
  
Mike cringes at the way Lupo goes suddenly still, but he can see that Ed doesn’t notice. “We tolerate you, Ed,” he says to keep the attention off Lupo. “There’s a difference.”  
  
“Ouch,” Ed says with a laugh and bats his eyelashes at Lupo. “You don’t think that, do you, Lup?”  
  
“I…” Lupo looks at Mike helplessly, silently begging for help. It’s too much for him, Mike knows, to have Ed so close and so flirtatious.  
  
“Tell you what, Ed; you kick my ass on a flying level, and I’ll take it all back.”  
  
“Done!”   
  
Mike sighs under his breath as Ed sets them up for a battle. Lupo throws him a small, relieved grin, and Mike smiles back.


	13. Mike Gets a Clue, Kind Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike's get up late, and starts getting a clue.

Mike wakes up one morning to discover that he’d been so tired the night before he hadn’t remembered to turn on his alarm. He’d slept through first period, and he had exactly seven minutes to get up, get showered, get dressed, and get to Mr. McCoy’s class.  
  
He made it in eleven.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy greets him without looking up from his notes. “You’re late.”  
  
“I forgot to set my alarm,” Mike explains before he can stop himself. He hates giving explanations to teachers. They always think they’re excuses.  
  
“And your roommates?”  
  
Ed leaves early to run laps at the track. Lupo leaves early to have breakfast before he begins his cafeteria monitoring duties. “I’m the last one to leave in the mornings.”  
  
“I see,” Mr. McCoy nods and makes a note in his attendance book. “Take your seat.”  
  
Mike slides into his desk, relieved and slightly flushed from the way everyone in the room is still staring at him. Connie gives him a sympathetic smile and slides her notebook to the edge of her desk so that he can scrawl the notes he’s missed.   
  
“Thanks,” Mike whispers.   
  
“You’re welcome,” Connie whispers in return.  
  
Mike looks to the front of the room and blinks when he discovers that Mr. McCoy is watching him as he lectures. He sinks against his seat, shoulders coming up as he lowers his head, and he doesn’t offer any answers or information when Mr. McCoy asks for them during the run of class. The bell ringing almost makes Mike sigh in relief.  
  
“Mr. Cutter, if you could wait for just a minute.”  
  
“Sure, Mr. McCoy,” Mike says as he feels his stomach drop. He tucks his notebook into his backpack and walks to the front of the room, standing in front of Mr. McCoy’s desk. He tries not to wring his hands when Mr. McCoy looks at him.  
  
“Relax, Mr. Cutter. Lateness happens to everyone.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
Mr. McCoy reaches into his desk and pulls out a candy bar. He slides it across the desk. “I assume you missed breakfast.”  
  
“Yes.” Mike takes the candy bar and tears open the wrapper. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” Mr. McCoy pulls out his hall pass pad and scrawls his name on the bottom line. He tears off the page and hands it to Mike. “Get going.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Mike looks at the hall pass for a moment. “Mr. McCoy?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Mike wants to ask if he keeps candy bars in his desk all the time. Mike wants to ask if he gives them out to everyone who’s late and missed breakfast. Mike wants to ask if he’s allowed to ask a teacher questions like that. “Thanks,” he says instead of asking anything.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. McCoy says just as Mike grabs for the doorknob. “We’ve spoken about your undershirts.”  
  
It’s all Mike can do not to groan aloud. He already has two demerits for lack of an undershirt, and he hasn’t yet come up with an argument for Mr. McCoy that will let him get away with not wearing one. They bunch and itch and Mike hates the way the extra layer makes him sweat just enough to feel grimy at the end of the day. “I managed to get to class forty-five seconds earlier by not taking the time to put one on.”  
  
Mr. McCoy smiles. “Not quite.”  
  
“Another demerit?”  
  
“Until I hear an explanation that can be backed with evidence that isn’t completely self-serving, yes.”  
  
“I’ll work on it.”  
  
“I look forward to the polished results.”  
  
Mike nods goodbye and lets himself into the hallway. It’s nearly deserted, being thirty seconds from the late bell, and he hustles down the hall to Music Appreciation. He steps into Mr. Briscoe’s room as the bell finishes ringing but saves himself from any wry remarks by handing over his hall pass.  
  
“Take your seat,” Mr. Briscoe orders as he tucks the hall pass into his roll book.   
  
Lupo gives Mike a questioning squint as Mike sits down. He writes in the margin of his notebook and angles it so Mike can see it.   
  
EVERYTHING OKAY?  
  
Mike writes in his own margin.  
  
ALARM WASN’T ON. RAN LATE.  
  
Lupo’s reply is eloquent in its simplicity.  
  
SHIT.  
  
Mike shrugs to let Lupo know it’s all worked out and finds that he has a hard time concentrating when Mr. Briscoe starts to lecture. Music Appreciation, which Mike always thought should be boring, is actually fun with Mr. Briscoe. He’s got a sarcastic sense of humor and doesn’t think anything of taking a few jabs at some of the supposed rules. But Mike’s mind is wandering, and he’s considering the lack of his undershirt. There has to be a way to argue it, he thinks, that’ll make Mr. McCoy get off his back.  
  
“Mr. Cutter, give me an example of modern music that draws on classical music.” Mr. Briscoe’s tone holds a knowing note that he’s caught Mike making notes about something else.  
  
“Does Queen count?” Mike asks, trying to sound interested.  
  
Mr. Briscoe looks pained. “I’m going to say yes, and no one gets to call me old because I control your grades.” There’s a smattering of laughter around the room. “Nice save, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
Mike returns Mr. Briscoe’s wry smile and looks at his notes again once Mr. Briscoe calls on someone else. He’s got the basic outline for a non-undershirt argument, but it’s all based on personal comfort. Mike crosses out the argument and turns to a new page.  
  
Lupo has to nudge him to get him to pack up and move to fourth hour, and it’s halfway through Mr. Logan’s lecture on the ethics of necessary violence that Mike finally finds his point. He almost wants to shout for joy, except that Mr. Logan is mid-sentence and Mike’s certain he’s hit his embarrassment quota for the day.  
  
Lunch is after fourth hour, which means Mike can slide into Mr. McCoy’s room and have a one-on-one conversation. “Saves water,” he says as an opener.  
  
Mr. McCoy is packing his briefcase, but he pauses and gives Mike a shrewd look. “Explain,” he orders.  
  
“The school handbook states that undershirts are a requirement for all students as part of their uniform. The handbook further clarifies that the undershirt should be clean.” Mike pauses and raises his eyebrows. Mr. McCoy nods at him to continue. “This means each student wears five undershirts a week, adding half a load of laundry to their weekly total. Most students do their laundry every two weeks, meaning that undershirts alone are responsible for roughly 500 loads of laundry a week. By not wearing my undershirts, I’m saving the school money on their water bill as well as saving water in general.”  
  
Mr. McCoy’s eyebrows go up, and the beginnings of a smile slide across his face. “You’re arguing from an environmental standpoint?”  
  
“And from a monetary standpoint.” Mike grins, proud of himself. “Well?”  
  
“Not bad, Mr. Cutter.” Mr. McCoy closes his briefcase and lifts it off his desk. “However, you’re still required by the rules of this school to wear an undershirt.”  
  
Mike sighs, “I know.”  
  
“But I’ll give you a week’s grace for the effort.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“You’ve earned it.”  
  
A laugh breaks from Mike before he can stop it. He presses his lips together, embarrassed, but the way Mr. McCoy grins at him makes a chuckle escape. “Thanks.”  
  
“Get to lunch, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
Mike hurries out of the room, high on his accomplishment. It doesn’t hit him until he sits down between Ed and Lupo that he’d just spent two hours putting together an argument for no other reason than to show Mr. McCoy he could do it. Except that Mr. McCoy’s been the one showing him how to deliver an argument. He’d joined mock trial for that exact purpose.  
  
“Mike,” Ed pokes Mike in the arm to get his attention. “You okay? You’re quiet.”  
  
“Fine,” Mike says distractedly as things start to crystallize. “Just figuring some stuff out.”  
  
“Need help?”  
  
Mr. McCoy’s grin is stuck in Mike’s mind. He can’t shake it or the way it made him feel. The way the memory of it makes him half-hard. Shit. “No,” Mike hears himself tell Ed, “I think I’ve got it.”   
  
What he’s going to do with it, however, is an issue to which he doesn’t have an answer.


	14. Ed and Lupo Hit a Homerun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed, Lupo, and the first time.

They’ve been doing stuff for three weeks. Lupo will be halfway through his homework when Ed will suddenly pounce, clambering into Lupo’s lap, mouth hot against his check and fingers sliding between the buttons on his shirt. Ed will be playing Halo, and Lupo will cheat by licking his ear, and Ed will drop his controller, and they’ll be kissing, hot messy kisses that make Lupo lose time.  
  
Three weeks of touching and kissing. Three weeks of Lupo gasping into Ed’s mouth and digging his fingers into Ed’s ribs. Three weeks of Lupo grinding against Ed and sorely testing Ed’s self-imposed waiting period. Because Ed’s had sex before. He’s had it more than once. But this is Lupo. And that means something different to Ed than the other times he had sex.  
  
Sex is fun. Ed enjoys sex. But this isn’t about sex. This isn’t about smiling and laughing and slipping his hand between someone’s legs. This is about Lupo.  
  
“We’re gonna-“ Lupo stutters out and gasps when Ed’s fingers trace his waistband. “Yeah.”  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“I know.” Lupo’s stomach concaves when Ed starts to loosen his belt. “I’m not scared.”  
  
Ed takes his hand off Lupo’s belt. He leans down and kisses Lupo just above the belly button. “I know.” He stretches a little and kisses higher. He presses his nose into the soft spot under Lupo’s sternum and listens to him pant. “You’re okay, Lup.” Ed presses his hands against Lupo’s hips when he tries to jerk up in defense. “Nothin’ wrong with being a little nervous.”  
  
“I’m not-“  
  
“Nervous isn’t scared.”  
  
“Okay.” Lupo reaches down and gets Ed by his shirt collar. He pulls him up and kisses him, wet and demanding, his teeth raking against Ed’s bottom lip.   
  
Ed smiles into the kiss and retuns it with fevor. When Lupo starts to press up with his hips, Ed slides a hand down and cups Lupo through his pants. Lupo freezes. Ed carefully squeezes, and Lupo’s head falls back to hit the pillow. “Easy now,” Ed whispers, the words lost against Lupo’s neck. Ed licks his throat and groans at the needy sound Lupo makes. “Fuck, man.”  
  
“What? Am I-“  
  
“You’re great,” Ed says and drags his hand up from Lupo’s groin to his belt. “You’re really fucking great.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Ed looks Lupo in the eyes, sees the excitement and the concern and the worry. “Oh, yeah.” He unhooks Lupo’s belt and slides it free from the belt loops. “I’ve been waiting,” He snaps the button on Lupo’s pants and yanks them down past Lupo’s hips, “God, I’ve been waiting.”  
  
“You-“ Lupo hisses through his teeth as Ed worms his way into his underwear. “Really?”  
  
“Yeah.” Ed wraps his fingers around Lupo’s dick and pulls up slowly. Lupo moans and clenches his hands in the sheets. Ed strokes downward. “God, Lup.” He moves his hand a bit more quickly and kisses Lupo’s collarbone. “You’re…”   
  
“Fuck,” Lupo whimpers and wriggles uncontrollably as Ed changes the angle and moves down his body. “What are-“ It’s as far as he gets before Ed licks the head of his dick and sucks it into his mouth. “Ed. Fuck. Ed.” Lupo bucks his hips and tightens his grip on the sheets. “I can’t-“ He bites his tongue to try and dull the pleasure as Ed takes him a little further. “Oh, god, I’m gonna. I’m gonna.”   
  
Ed licks and sucks and pulls down with his hand as he pulls up with his mouth, and Lupo gives a muffled shout and comes in Ed’s mouth. Ed swallows quickly to avoid the taste, and when he looks up, Lupo’s arm is thrown across his mouth. “Was it good?”  
  
“Was it. Shit.” Lupo’s panting hard. His hands are shaky. He grabs for Ed and pulls him up and kisses him sloppily. “Fuck.”  
  
“Thanks,” Ed says, and when he shifts, his erection presses against Lupo’s hip.  
  
“Oh. I didn’t-“  
  
“It’s okay.”  
  
“No, it’s-“  
  
“Hold still,” Ed says and strips out of his pants. He settles his dick in the curve where Lupo’s hipbone meets his pelvis, and he slides up and down. “Hold me,” he whispers to Lupo, and Lupo’s arms go around him immediately. “Bring your leg up.” Lupo’s leg wraps around Ed’s waist, and the curve tightens. Ed presses in harder. Lupo hugs him tighter, and pretty soon Ed’s coming, his fingers digging into the sheets because he doesn’t want to spook Lupo by grabbing him so hard.  
  
It takes Ed a few mnutes to find the energy to roll off Lupo. Lupo, for his part, is still holding him close, so Ed maneuvers so they’re face-to-face but on their sides. “You okay?” He asks and shoves Lupo’s sweaty hair off his forehead.  
  
“Yeah. Of course.” Lupo grins lazily and runs his hand up Ed’s back. “It was good?”  
  
“Oh, yeah.” Ed grins back at him. “Better than good. It was great.”  
  
“I don’t usually…”  
  
“It’s cool. It’s a compliment.”  
  
Lupo looks like he’s not buying it. “Really?”  
  
“I get you so revved you go off fast? Yeah. That’s a compliment. And back at you, by the way.” Ed almost laughs when Lupo blushes, his chest flushing along with his ears and face. “It gets easier to handle after the first few times. We can go longer.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“We can do more stuff.” Ed leans forward and bumps his forehead against Lupo’s when the flush intensifies. “It’s okay to wanna do more stuff.”  
  
“I know.” It’s slightly defensive, but Lupo deflates when Ed just grins at him. “I’m just not used to this. I don’t usually get exactly what I want.”  
  
Ed’s pretty sure he’s never gotten a better compliment. “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. I mean, hell, it’s you man. I’ve wanted you for, like, forever. And now we’re here,” Lupo’s attempt to wave at the room in general is hampered by his arms still being around Ed. “And we just did…sex. We just had sex. This is good. This is really, really good.”  
  
Not great, Ed notes mentally, but then again, even getting Lupo to admit something as “really, really good” takes effort. Fun, sweaty effort, apparently. “And it gets better,” Ed promises. He flips Lupo onto his back and kisses him hard and fast before he can get in a word. “And it gets even more fun.” He kisses him again. “And then it gets kinky.”   
  
Lupo laughs at that. “It’s only kinky the first time.”  
  
Ed’s so surprised at the quick rejoinder, that all he can do is smile at Lupo like an idiot. “Just wait until you see how kinky I get.”  
  
“Bring it,” Lupo challenges, chin jutting in the air.  
  
Ed kisses his chin, feeling light and happy and proudly ridiculous. “Just you wait, Lup.”


	15. Mock Trial Regionals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, Mike, mock trial regionals, and Lennie trying to help.

“I booked the rooms for you,” Lennie says and hands Jack a sheaf of papers with hotel information and payment agreements. “Separate rooms for you and I and four to a room for the team.”  
  
Jack does the math in his head. “We’ve got a team of thirteen, and we’re left with an extra male.”  
  
“Flip you for him.” Lennie’s tone is dry. “But don’t forget I wouldn’t be getting dragged along if it weren’t for you losing it.”  
  
“I’ll take the odd man out,” Jack grouses good naturedly. “I’ll grab the guys before they leave tonight and get one of them to crack.”  
  
“Start with Profachi. He’s an easy sell.”  
  
Profachi, it turns out, is not an easy sell. He stares at Jack like Jack offers him cyanide. Jack’s not terribly surprised to get the same look from the rest of the boys, save Mike who just looks uncomfortable and terrified. Jack understands; he’s feeling a bit of it himself.  
  
”Come on, men,” Jack cajoles, resting his butt on the edge of his desk, “someone’s going to have to bite the bullet.” There’s another long stretch of silence, and Jack starts to feel uncomfortable. He hates being forced to choose. It only causes problems during the trip.  
  
“I’ll do it,” Mike says quietly, his eyes not meeting Jack’s.  
  
Jack is fairly certain he’s about to swallow his tongue. “I appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
“Sure,” Mike says, and stays firmly seated as the other guys hurry out of the room. Glad, no doubt, to have gotten away with not volunteering. Mike looks at Jack, who is still seated on the edge of his desk. “No one else was going to offer.”  
  
“I could have picked someone else.” Jack says tersely.  
  
“Yeah,” Mike looks at his feet. “But I didn’t want you to.”  
  
“We can’t do this.” Jack’s starting to feel like a broken record. “There are rules, Mike.”  
  
“I can be good.”  
  
Jack doubts it, and he doubts himself. It’s a combination for absolute destruction, and he knows he’s going to regret agreeing, but the other option is to reconvene the men and tell them to choose again. The questions it will raise will be more difficult to avoid than the situation that’s already laid out for him. “Okay,” he says resignedly. “Because we don’t have another option.”  
  
“I’ll be good,” Mike repeats.  
  
Jack doesn’t miss the way he’s trying to hide his smile. “Get going, Mr. Cutter. I’ve got work to do.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Mike’s gone from the room in a half a dozen quick strides, the door shutting behind him with a hiss and a click.  
  
Jack collapses into his chair and throws back his head. “Shit,” he announces to the ceiling. Mike’s promise is genuine, Jack knows, but Mike is also seventeen. And Jack is thirty-nine, and he’s just as worried about his own control as he is Mike’s.  
  
He wonders if there’s any chance at convincing Lennie to give up the extra bed in his room for the trip.   
  
Surprisingly, the first day of regionals goes smoothly. Mike spends his time on the bus trip to Baltimore sitting alone and reviewing his arguments. The rest of the students sit at the very back of the bus, laughing and gossiping and throwing out ideas. Jack sits up front with Lennie, occasionally looking back to make sure no one’s getting too rowdy.  
  
“Question,” Lennie says as the bus driver takes an exit to keep them out of Philadelphia proper.  
  
”Yes?” Jack says, glancing up from the crossword he’s been fighting.  
  
“What’s up with Cutter?” Lennie glances back and squints as Mike shuffles his notes. “I mean, I’ve seen dedication, but he takes it above and beyond. Especially while you were gone.”  
  
Jack tries not to think about when he was gone, hiding out in the city and trying very hard to forget Mike Cutter as anything other than a smart student who needed a mentor. “He’s just built that way, I guess.”  
  
“The others think he’s weird,” Lennie states.  
  
“There’s one on every team, Lennie. At least Cutter’s good.” Jack spares a look at Mike, who is pushing his hair off his forehead and trying to make notes as the bus bumps along. “I remember a few years ago, I had a kid who was just a punk.”  
  
“Lethem,” Lennie says. “I remember him. He thought arguing was a form of conversation.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jack says, making himself look away from Mike before Lennie can take real notice. “Same dedication as Cutter, but much worse at keeping it separate from the rest of his activities.”  
  
“Whatever happened to that kid?”  
  
“He’s trying to get into law school. He called me for a reference.”  
  
Lennie grins at the muted mirth in Jack’s eyes. “How’d that go?”  
  
“He didn’t specify the kind of reference.”  
  
“Never ask a question to which you don’t already know the answer.”  
  
Jack grins, feeling lighter suddenly, even with Mike seven seats away. “Exactly.”  
  
Lennie leans into his seat and looks over his shoulder at a sudden racous bit of laughter. “He looks up to you.”  
  
“Who? Lethem? Not hardly.”  
  
“Not Lethem,” Lennie says while giving Jack a pointed look. “Cutter. Cutter looks up to you.”  
  
The way Lennie’s looking at him makes Jack midly nervous. There’s a subtly to the man that makes him a perfect candidate for telling people they’re being idiots without actually having to spell it out. “I give him leeway when he’s working. He appreciates it.”  
  
“I think he appreciates more than that.” Lenni’s raised eyebrow says more than any spelled out question he could ask.  
  
“It’s handled,” Jack says and looks back at his crossword.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Of course.” Jack fights not to look at Mike again. “Seven letter word for troublesome person.”  
  
“Profaci,” Lennie grouses as he stands up and makes his way to the back of the bus.  
  
Jack grins and turns to watch Lennie start in on the group in the back seat. He catches Mike’s eye by accident, and there’s a moment where Jack can’t look away. “It’s handled,” Jack repeats to himself and turns around.  
  
The hotel is situated in the middle of the city, and they make it through check-in in a record forty minutes. Lennie, perusing the schedule, announces that they have two hours in which to shower, change, and get over to Baltimore Central, the high school holding the regionals. “Looks like it’s three blocks west from here.”  
  
“Okay, everyone,” Jack says with a clap of his hands to get their attention, “We’re going to grab an elevator, get upstairs, and I want everyone ready to go in an hour.”  
  
“But-“ from Lynn Bishop, but she immediately cuts herself off at the look Jack gives her. “Yes, Mr. McCoy.”  
  
“Let’s go.”   
  
They manage to fit everyone into one elevator, and Jack rides to the ninth floor with Mike pressed fully against his front. It’s an unfair move, Jack thinks, and isn’t sure, even as they all empty out, that Mike didn’t do it on purpose. He catches the look Lennie throws him, worried and concerned, and Jack rolls his eyes in return.  
  
“An hour, people,” Jack announces as he slides his key card into the door lock and pushes the door open.   
  
It’s a standard hotel room double, with bland carpet, pinkish blankets, and a rattling heating and cooling system. Jack tosses his keycard on the table by the window and checks out the view. If he squints, he can see the harbor. “You take the first shower,” he tells Mike without turning around. “You’ve got to look better kept than me.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Jack listens to Mike set down his bags and walk into the bathroom. He only turns around when he hears the shower start. This is a bad idea. This can lead to no good. Jack is very certain his self-control will not last the forty-eight hours he’ll be sharing a room with Mike.  
  
The bathroom door opens, and Mike walks out in just a towel, digging in his toiletries bag for his deodorant. He looks up when he senses movement. Jack is sitting on the far bed, fingers clenched and back completely straight. “What?” Mike asks. Jack doesn’t look angry, but something in the air tells Mike he’s in trouble.  
  
“Nothing,” Jack says. “Hurry up.” He watches Mike walk away and wonders about the muscles that line his back, the firmness of his arms, and the flatness of his stomach. He’d only been gone a month. When he’d left, Mike had been skinny with bony elbows and the awkward stance of a kid dealing with a growth spurt. But now, god, now Mike has the body of a man and posture to match.  
  
Seventeen, Jack reminds himself again. Seventeen and a student. A brilliant, beautiful student who has maturity and sense and a body-  
  
“Stop it,” Jack orders himself, standing up and walking around the room, forcing himself to think of baseball and current events and trying very hard to push out the image of Mike and the lines of his back out of his mind.  
  
”Mr. McCoy?”  
  
Jack’s been so wrapped up that he hasn’t heard the shower shut off. He glances at Mike, wary at the possibility of another glimpse, and he’s relieved to see that Mike’s already dressed in his pants and an undershirt. “So you’ll wear them for competitions?”  
  
“Dress counts as part of the point system,” Mike says with a grin. He finishes drying his hair and throws the towel on the nearest bed. “Your turn.”  
  
It’s all so very casual, the way Mike turns away from Jack to comb out his hair in front of the mirror. Jack could almost believe that they’re nothing more than a student and a teacher, shoved in a room together out of bad luck and trying to make the best of it. He passes behind Mike and catches the barest hint of a tremor in his shoulders. Not so casual after all.  
  
The bathroom is still steamy, and Jack wipes the mirror with the palm of his hand. He recognizes the slightly cagey look in his eyes, but he still somehow looks calm and composed and mostly professional. He puts the water at tepid and stands under the spray for a full five minutes before soaping up and washing off. It’s only as he pushes aside the curtain that he realizes he’s left his clothes in his duffel on the bed. “Great,” Jack tells his reflection. “Just fucking great.”  
  
Mike is wearing his shirt and jacket and has his tie loosely knotted around his neck. He looks up when the bathroom door opens and can’t stop the squirm that runs through his body when Jack walks out in just a towel. All he can do is stare. Jack glances at him, and Mike looks away. “I need to find my notes,” he says, and crouches down by his backpack.  
  
Jack watches the way Mike’s pants tighten over his ass as he crouches. He nearly trips over the edge of the bed as he makes his way to his duffel. “I’ll be out in a minute,” Jack mutters as he gathers up his clothes and heads back to the bathroom.  
  
“Keep it together,” Mike whispers to himself as he finds his notes and moves them to his briefcase. “You made a promise.” He pulls his stopwatch from his pants pocket and sets it for five minutes. The stopwatch shows 2:37 when Jack comes out of the bathroom again. Mike doesn’t break stride, as he crosses from one side of the room to another, carefully laying out his plans one declarative sentence at a time.  
  
As always when Mike is in motion like this, Jack finds himself transfixed. He can’t look away from the way Mike’s stride eats up the floor or Mike’s ability to look at open air and seem to be connecting with some invisible person Jack can’t see. Mike’s statement rolls over him, and all Jack can do is listen.  
  
The stopwatch beeps.  
  
Mike blinks and comes out of his statement and finally notices Jack standing ten feet away. “I’m ready,” he says quietly.  
  
“All right,” Jack says, and he tightens his tie as Mike gathers his materials, and then they head for the door. The rest of the team assembles in twos and threes in the hallway, and Jack and Lennie lead everyone down to the lobby, out the doors, and onto the bus.  
  
The ride to Baltimore Central is quiet, nerves settling in as the bus driver pulls into the designated lot. Jack stands up before anyone can disembark. “You all know what you’re doing. You knew it when we started the semester. You knew it when you took city champs. You knew it when you worked with Mr. Briscoe. You knew it when I got back, and you know it now. Everyone breathe.”  
  
Everyone on the bus takes a collective breath.  
  
“Mr. Briscoe and I are going to get everyone signed in. I want all of you to find the cafeteria and start getting settled.” Jack steps off the bus, Lennie at his back, and the team clambering out more or less as a group.  
  
“I haven’t been to one of these things in years,” Lennie says as they step into the main entrance of the school, the noise level somewhere around pep rally proportions. “I used to co-chaperone with Stone when he was still running things, but you came on, and it didn’t come up.”  
  
“I can usually convince Anita to come with me, but she’s dealing with some sort of falling out with Cyrus Lupo, and you said yourself you’d already booked the rooms.”  
  
“Happy to be back,” Lennie says and grins at Jack.  
  
“Just you wait,” Jack warns as they approach the registration desk. “Jack McCoy and Lennie Briscoe signing in the Manhattan Prep team.”  
  
The girl working the table is wearing a stick-on nametag that says STUDENT ASSISTANT, and underneath, KAY HOWARD. She has curly red hair and a no-nonsense feel as she pulls papers from her stack. “Where is your team?”  
  
“They veered off into the cafeteria.”  
  
“That’s fine.” She pulls a pencil from somewhere within her mass of red hair and makes a note on the top of her pile of papers. “First round starts in twenty minutes. Your team needs to be there in ten. They’ll check in with the judges and have the rest of the pre-trial time to set up. How many teams are you running this year?”  
  
“Two. One team on Case A and one team on Case B.”  
  
“How many per team?”  
  
”Six on Case A and Seven on Case B.”  
  
Kay Howard fills in the blanks and initials at the bottom of the page. “Team captains are responsible for getting the paperwork signed at the end of each round. There’s a twenty minute break between rounds, and we’re hosting two rounds of preliminary tonight, two rounds of preliminary tomorrow morning, quarterfinals and semifinals tomorrow afternoon, and the top four rounds on Sunday morning.”  
  
Jack takes the paperwork when she holds it out for him and gives her a smile. “Thank you.”  
  
“No problem. Good luck.”  
  
Jack and Lennie walk away, Lennie holding back his smile until they round the corner. “We should tell Anita we’ve found her match.”  
  
Jack snorts in amusement. “Hardly. Give her twenty years, then we’ll see.”  
  
The Manhattan Prep team has taken over the full length of a table when Jack and Lennie walk into the cafeteria. Half of them are packing bottles of water into their briefcases and the other half are reviewing their plans for the rounds. Jack hands over the necessary paperwork to Lynn Bishop and Mike. “You’ve got seven minutes before you’re due. Take the time to prep your teams.”  
  
Mike and Lynn nod and gather their respective teams on opposite sides of the table. Jack and Lennie eavesdrop to be certain there’s no plans for a cheap shot or sly manuver, and once the students clear out for round one, they sit next to all the left-over supplies and break into their own routine. Jack still hasn’t finished the crossword from the bus, and Lennie has a book.  
  
“How’s the room?” Lennie asks after fifteen minutes of comfortable silence.  
  
“Fine,” Jack says, knowing exactly where the conversation is going to end. “Yours?”  
  
“The comforter smells like feet.”  
  
“That’s too bad.” Jack wonders on a four-letter word for ‘large garden’. He scratches in ‘farm’ with his pencil and considers fifteen down.  
  
“My shower’s nice, though.” Lennie spares a glance for Jack. He knows when Jack is making a point not to listen and when he’s making a point to look like he’s not listening. The expression on his face is clearly the latter. “How’s your shower?”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“You’ve used that word already.”  
  
“It maintains.”  
  
Lennie sighs quietly and closes his book. He looks straight at Jack. “I’m worried.”  
  
Jack doesn’t look up from his crossword. “I don’t know why.”  
  
“You left for a month. I know why. You know why. Anita obviously does not know why, or you wouldn’t have returned in one piece.”  
  
“We’re not doing this.”  
  
“No, you’re not doing this. Me? I’m doing this.”  
  
Jack gives Lennie a dark look and puts his eyes back on his crossword. “If it makes you feel better to meddle in my affairs, go ahead.”  
  
“Let’s not use the word ‘affair’, huh?” Lennie leans forward, dropping his voice to something near a whisper. “Look, Jack, it goes like this: You’re talking to a man who knows a lot about fucking up his life. As kind as Anita and everyone else has been to not lord my monumental, pre-Manhattan Prep fuck-ups over my head, the fact of the matter is, they’re there. I’m the guy you need to talk to before you do something really, outstandingly stupid. Because I’m the guy who’s been there.”  
  
It’s cheating. Jack is sure of it. Lennie doing his best to lay himself bare when people could overhear constitutes cheating. It makes Jack put down his crossword. It makes Jack look Lennie in the eyes. “Given that you know why I left, I’m surprised you’re not accusing me of already having done something stupid.”  
  
“A momentarily slip in judgment because you have a nubile youth crawling into your lap doesn’t count.” Lennie cracks a smile, just the slightest upward nudge of his lips. “We would all be so lucky.” The smile drops away, and Lennie is serious again. “But really, Jack. I mean it.”  
  
“I know.” Jack stands up, stretches, and checks his pockets for change. “I’m grabbing a soda. You want one?”  
  
“Sure,” Lennie agrees, because he knows they’re not in the right place to have a long conversation about the stress that’s showing in the way Jack rubs the back of his neck as he crosses the cafeteria to the soda machines.  
  
They pass the rest of the first round in silence, Jack working his way steadily through his crossword, and Lennie diligently working to the end of chapter fourteen. Lynn and her team are back first, and she grins at Jack when she sits near him.   
  
“We took it!”  
  
“I had no doubt,” Jack says with a smile. “Any problems?”  
  
“They took us to town during redirect,” Lynn pulls a disgusted face, “and we’ve already come up with a strategy in case it happens again.”  
  
“Good.” Jack nods to the group in general. “Get yourselves something to eat and report to your next room.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Lynn salutes and leads away the team.  
  
Lennie chuckles and shakes his head. “My chorus kids don’t get this happy when they win.”  
  
“I don’t think your chorus kids are this obsessive.”  
  
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”  
  
Jack grins. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”  
  
There’s a sudden burst of noise at the doors of the cafeteria, and Jack and Lennie both turn to see Mike’s team practically bowl over another team who’s trying to make their way out.  
  
“We killed them!” Mike shouts to Jack when he’s still halfway across the room. “They started strong, but we,” Mike trips over his feet and nearly takes a header into the table. He steadies himself with one hand and absolutely beams at Jack. “We got it back. We took it.”  
  
“Excellent,” Jack says, but it sounds flat even to him. Mike’s loosened his tie and unbuttoned his top button, and Jack can see the sweat that’s pooling in his collar bone.  
  
“Two for two,” Lennie says to try and deflect. “Ms. Bishop just reported a win.”  
  
“Cool!” Mike grins at Lennie. “I’m grabbing a soda,” he announces to the table at large, and the entire team follows him over to the machines.  
  
“Christ,” Lennie says under his breath, “you’ve got it bad.”  
  
Jack breathes out hard and drops his head into his hands. “I’ve got it under control.”  
  
“Sure. Every coach looks at his star player that way.”  
  
“Lennie, shut up.”  
  
Mike and Lynn bring back wins again for round two, and once Jack is handed the line-ups for the next day, he loads everyone onto the bus and lets them congratulate themselves for most of the trip back to the hotel.  
  
“Listen up,” Jack says as the bus turns the last corner to the hotel’s half-circle drive, “it’s eight now. I want everyone in their rooms no later than ten. Before then, feel free to run around the hotel and make a bad impression.”  
  
”But not too bad an impression,” Lennie interjects. “We’re from New York. We have a reputation.”  
  
“I’m from Wisconsin!” Lynn shouts from the back of the bus.  
  
“Duly noted and ignored,” Lennie responds, causing a laugh.  
  
“Ten o’clock curfew!” Jack yells over the laughter. “Anyone caught out after lights out gets to spend their downtime tomorrow making food runs for Mr. Briscoe and myself.”  
  
There’s a collective groan as everyone piles off the bus. Lennie keeps pace with Jack as they follow the team into the lobby. “I can switch you rooms. The kids don’t have to know.”  
  
“As soon as the first one wakes up and comes running for nerves, they’ll know.”   
  
“If you’re sure.”  
  
Jack’s not, at all, but his other option is to run scared. “I’m sure.”  
  
“Fine,” Lennie says with a sigh. “I’m going to my room. When do you want to do first walk around?”  
  
“Quarter to ten. Knock on my door if you need help rounding them up.”  
  
”Will do.”  
  
The group filters off from the elevator, everyone heading into their particular rooms. Jack gets into the room first and looks at the skyline again as Mike walks in behind him. “You did well, Mr. Cutter.”  
  
“Thank you,” Mike says quietly.  
  
Jack turns around, determined to have at least part of the conversation face-to-face. Mike is out of his shirt and tie, and his back is to Jack as he pulls off his undershirt. Jack clenches his jaw to keep from saying anything and just watches the smooth motion of Mike getting shirtless.  
  
Mike turns to throw his undershirt on the bed and catches the look Jack’s giving him. “I…I’m sweaty,” he says after a moment. “This isn’t…I’m not trying…” Mike looks away from Jack and licks his lips. “Look, I know I made a promise, but it’s really hard to stand here and not-“  
  
“Mike.”  
  
The warning is heavy in Jack’s voice, but Mike doesn’t care quite enough. “I want to kiss you,” Mike states. He considers stepping forward, but leans back against the wall instead.  
  
Jack just stares at the line of Mike’s body, shoulders against the wall, back slightly arched, as the very last of his resolve slides away into nothing. He walks across the room and puts his hands on the wall on the either side of Mike’s head. “Be certain.”  
  
“I’ve been certain.”  
  
“God, but you’re brazen,” Jack mutters and presses his mouth to Mike’s collar bone. He tastes of sweat and hotel soap. Jack kisses the side of his neck. Mike grabs Jack’s waistband and tries to pull him forward. “Impatient, too.”  
  
“I’ve had wood since the bus ride. Gimmie a break.” Mike gives Jack’s beltloops another yank, and Jack stumbles into him. “I really was trying to be good.”  
  
“I know,” Jack nips at Mike’s ear.   
  
Mike tries to kiss Jack on the mouth, but Jack angles himself away, and Mike kisses his chin instead. “Come here,” Mike tries to order, his next kiss landing on Jack’s cheek. “Please.”  
  
Jack hides his smile against Mike’s shoulder. “And so polite.”  
  
“Jack,” Mike groans, and there’s desperation in it that matches the grip Mike has on his shirt. “Please.”  
  
So Jack kisses him, tongue sliding in when Mike gasps, and he licks at Mike’s teeth, counting them off with the tip of his tongue. He drops one of his hands from the wall and angles Mike’s head, presses his hips so that Mike’s pinned against the wall, and gives an approving noise when Mike nips at his bottom lip.   
  
“Mike,” Jack says into Mike’s mouth, because he’s waited all day to say it. He starts to pull away, to get his breath, but Mike follows him, launches himself off the wall, and sends them both sprawling onto the near bed. Jack grunts as Mike crawls up his body, knees on either side of Jack’s hips, and tongue thrusting into Jack’s mouth. It’s dirty. It’s undignified. It’s glorious.  
  
It’s interrupted by a knock on the door.  
  
Jack wants to ignore it, wants to keep laying on the bed, Mike’s cheeks hollowing as he sucks on Jack’s tongue. But he has responsibilities and expectations, and he rolls Mike off of him. “I have to-“  
  
Mike’s panting. His eyes are bright and his lips are wet. “I know.’ He licks his lips and holds his breath for a moment. “I’m okay.”  
  
Jack almost grins. He almost crawls on top of Mike and starts kissing him again. It’s only a second knock at the door that makes him move of the bed.  
  
It’s Lennie, with the beginning of a wiseass grin on his face. The grin drops when he gets a good look at Jack, whose shirt is half-untucked. “You-“  
  
“What’s up?” Jack asks, wanting to avoid any confrontation Lennie might be planning.  
  
“I caught Profaci with this,” Lennie holds up an unopened bottle of incredibly cheap wine. “He tried to tell me it was Cabot’s. She told me he’s a dirty weasel.”  
  
Jack runs a hand over his face. “Christ. Great.”  
  
“I told Profaci he’s earned the very special position of my shadow for the rest of the trip.” Lennie’s wiseass grin is back. “And he gets to call Anita personally tomorrow morning.”  
  
Jack gives a short laugh. “Appropriate.”  
  
“I thought you’d like that.” Lennie hesitates for a moment, sliding a glance into the room. Mike’s on one of the beds, shirt off, pillow on his lap and book on the pillow. It’d be less suspicious, Lennie thinks, if the kid would stop shifting every few seconds.  
  
“Anything else, Lennie?” Jack asks in a tone that’s almost casual.  
  
“There’s a lap pool off the sauna,” Lennie returns in the same tone. “I thought Mr. Cutter would find it useful as long as we’re here. I know swim team regionals are next weekend.”  
  
It sounds off hand, like Lennie had really just noticed for no reason. It’s only the hard look he gives Jack that makes it a veiled order.  
  
“I’m sure he’ll find it useful.” Jack tries to put all the sincerity he has into the sentence. “I’ll take the ten o’clock walk around, since you had to start early.”  
  
“Great.” Lennie holds out the wine to Jack. “You hold onto this.”  
  
“Sure.” Jack waits for Lennie to walk into his own room before he closes the door. He turns around and he just stares at Mike. He wants to crawl onto the bed, press a hand to Mike’s crotch, bite the hollow spots on his ribcage, worry his nipples until they’re so sensitive they stand up beneath Mike’s undershirt and button-down.  
  
“I should go swimming,” Mike says resignedly.  
  
”Yeah,” Jack agrees because it’s the right thing to do.  
  
“Okay.” Mike slides off the bed and walks to his duffel. “Coach Fin will be pissed if I don’t practice.”  
  
“Yeah.” It’s all Jack can safely say as he stares at Mike’s back and wonders about the taste of the knobs of his spine. He sits on the un-used bed carefully, dropping his head into his hands as he listen to Mike change in the bathroom.  
  
“We’re not…” Mike trails off.  
  
“No.” Jack spares him a glance and wishes he hadn’t. It’s almost too much, Mike in his small, well-fitting bathing suit. “Go swimming.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike stops at the door and looks at Jack again. “I’m not trying to be difficult.”  
  
He’s out the door before Jack can point out that that’s exactly the problem. Jack sighs heavily and levers himself off the bed. He picks up the bottle of very cheap wine and tucks it into the bottom of his duffel. He’ll hand it over to Anita on Sunday. He wishes there was someway to do the same with Mike.


	16. Mikey Gets a Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before, or what happened after Mikey basically humped Jack.

“Mikey! Oh, Mikey!”   
  
Ed’s voice is overly-cheerful and much too loud. Mike groans into his pillow and feels around for something to throw at the door. “Go away!” He tries to yell, but it comes out as more of a pained mutter.  
  
Ed throws open Mike’s door, making it bounce off the wall with a hard thud. “You bastard!” He says cheerfully and throws himself onto Mike’s bed. “You owe me seven bucks!”  
  
“Shut. Up.” Mike rolls over and growls when Ed takes away his pillow. “Go away.”  
  
“Pay up!” Ed thumps Mike on the back and dodges the arm that tries to shove him off the bed. “You drank half my fucking booze!” Ed thumps Mike again. “Fourteen dollar bottle of whiskey, and you drank half the damned thing! Pay up!”  
  
Mike finally connects with Ed and shoves him off the bed. “Go away. My head hurts.”  
  
Ed barks out a laugh. “And you’re hungover!” He jumps to his feet and runs into the living room. “Lup! You owe me five!”  
  
“Goddamnit!” Lupo yells.  
  
Mike grumbles and pulls himself upright. His head swims and pounds, and Mike has to close his eyes and try not to vomit.  
  
“Hey,” Lupo’s voice is a whisper as he walks into Mike’s room. “You okay?”  
  
“My mouth tastes like fuzz.” Mike tries to lick his lips, and it doesn’t help. “And my head is killing me.”  
  
“Yeah. It does that.” Lupo sits carefully on the bed and holds out a glass of water and aspirin. “Just chug the water.”  
  
Mike does as instructed and has to swallow hard to keep from vomiting up the water. “Oh.”  
  
”Yeah.” Lupo leans against the bed post. “First time I did it was after my first parents’ weekend. Mine didn’t show up, obviously, and Ed’s grandma came and acted like I was just as important as he was, and I knew she didn’t know me, and that made me feel even worse, so I didn’t go to dinner with them.”  
  
“And you got drunk.”  
  
Lupo shrugs meaninglessly. “Yeah.”  
  
Mike rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty. He tries licking his lips again, and it works a little. “I got really stupid.”  
  
“Dude, I can beat this. I know I can.”  
  
“I, um…” Mike looks down at his blanket and presses his hands together.   
  
“Spill it,” Lupo encourages with a very careful shove to Mike’s shoulder. “Fuck, between me and Ed, you’re probably tame.”  
  
“I had sex with Mr. McCoy.” If Mike were in slightly less pain, he knows he’d get a laugh out of the way Lupo just gapes at him. In his current state it just makes him wince.   
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Mike closes his eyes. “Yeah.”  
  
“I mean, seriously, Fuck.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Mike’s saved from Lupo on repeat by his room phone ringing. He winces but reaches for it. “Hello?”  
  
“Mike. It’s Alex Cabot.”  
  
“Hi, Alex.” Mike clears his throat and tries to sound slightly less awful. “What’s going on?”  
  
“It’s ten minutes after eleven. Practice started ten minutes ago. Where are you?”  
  
It takes Mike a moment to realize what she’s talking about. “Shit. I’ll be there in a few. I, uh, I got a late start.”  
  
“Okay. I’ll tell the others.” The line disconnects.  
  
“Fuck,” Mike says as he tries to untangle himself from his blankets. “I have trial practice.”  
  
Lupo’s eyes go wide. “You gonna be okay?”  
  
Mike considers lying and pulling out some bravado, but his head hurts, and he knows Lupo genuinely cares. “I dunno, but I have to go. Mr. McCoy made me a team captain.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“Pretty much.” Mike tugs on his pants, hunts up socks, and slides on a mostly-clean shirt.  
  
“Dude. Hair.”  
  
Mike glances in the mirror. His face is pale, his eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is standing up on one side. “Shit.” He scrubs his hands through his hair. “Better?”  
  
Lupo squints. “Yeah. It’ll work.”  
  
“I need my books.” Mike spins around and stops short as his stomach rolls. “Oh, man.”  
  
“Yeah, it does that.” Lupo’s wincing in sympathy as Mike’s face goes even paler. “Deep breaths, man. And some fruit.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike breathes carefully, and his stomach settles again. “God, I feel like shit.”  
  
“You’re not looking much better.” Ed’s in the doorway, banana in one hand and Mike’s backpack in the other. “You’re really gonna go to a weekend practice when you feel like this?”  
  
“At least it’s not swim practice.” Mike takes his backpack and the banana and gives Ed a shaky smile. “Thanks.”  
  
“Sure.” Ed grins back at Mike. “Get lost. I’m gonna have sex with Lupo on your bed.”  
  
“Gross.” Mike shakes his head and makes tracks. He gets to the mock trial room in just under three minutes, banana eaten and stomach mostly on his side. It starts rolling again when Mike lays down his backpack and looks at Mr. McCoy’s desk. Mr. Briscoe is sitting there, reviewing a stack of papers and looking completely comfortable.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Mr. Brisoce says without looking up, “we were wondering where you were.”  
  
“Sorry, I had a late start.”  
  
Mr. Briscoe gives Mike a once-over. “I see.”  
  
Mike unpacks his notebook and trial manual and sits at his table. He opens his manual and tries to review compelling closing arguments, but his eyes keep straying to Mr. Briscoe sitting at Jack’s desk. Mike wonders how to approach the question. There was no good way to ask without looking like a brown noser, but everyone already thought he was one. It wasn’t like he was going to lose any respect from anyone else in the room. “Mr. Briscoe?”  
  
“Yes, Mr. Cutter?”  
  
“Where’s Mr. McCoy?” Mike hears someone in the back of the room snicker, but he ignores it.   
  
”He’s not here, Mr. Cutter. That’s all you need to worry about.”  
  
Mike doesn’t have an answer for that. Claiming that he has more to worry about than anyone else in the room means that he’ll have to explain himself, and Mike’s not sure he can. At least, not without making things into an even bigger mess. He tries to concentrate on his work, but it all feels flat somehow. He’s got a closing argument already planned, and he knows it’s good. His opening could probably use some work, but it doesn’t hold any interest either.  
  
“Mr. Cutter, a moment,” Mr. Briscoe says when everyone files out for lunch at one.  
  
“Yes, sir?” Mike puts his book and notebook into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder.  
  
“Mr. McCoy spoke very highly of you before he left. Said you were his star student. I didn’t see you using your time like a star student.”  
  
Mike shifts from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the way Mr. Briscoe is watching him, like maybe he knows something that he shouldn’t. “I had a bad night,” he finally says because it seems like Mr. Briscoe is waiting for an answer.   
  
”Get over it.” It’s not said unkindly, but there is a certain amount of world-weariness tied up with it. “I refuse to believe any student here has ever had as bad a night as I’ve had before.”  
  
There’s no way to argue the point without causing a lot of questions. Mike hefts his bag higher on his shoulder. “I’ll get it together.”  
  
“See that you do.”   
  
Mike can’t throw off the way Mr. Briscoe says it, like he’s already disappointed because Mike should know better than to wallow. He crosses campus with his attention on his feet. One foot in one of the other, his mother always says to him; it’s how things get done.  
  
Mike pauses outside the cafeteria to take a breath and try to push down the stone that’s pressing onto his stomach. When he closes his eyes, he sees Jack against the desk with his shoulders slumped. He remembers curling against Jack. He remembers Jack’s fingers stroking his shoulder for just a second.  
  
“This sucks,” Mike mutters to himself as he throws open the door to the cafeteria.


	17. Ed and Lupo Hit a Speedbump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed and Lupo are, unfortunately, breaking some rules.

“That’s not fair!”  
  
Anita purses her lips and reminds herself that Cyrus Lupo is wrong “It is the rules, Mr. Lupo.”  
  
”But-“  
  
“The student handbook states that two people in a relationship are not allowed to spend the night together or visit one another’s rooms unless the door is open and they are there during normal visiting hours.”  
  
“People break that rule all the time!”  
  
Anita sighs. It’s a true statement, and that makes it harder to deny Cyrus his outburst. “That may be true, but the rules are still there. I can not allow you and Mr. Green to continue sharing a suite if you want to continue your relationship.”  
  
Cyrus deflates, sagging into his chair and looking dejectedly at Ed. “But we don’t do anything.”  
  
Anita can see a dark purple marking peeking over Cyrus’s collar. “The rules are the rules, Mr. Lupo. You can’t-“  
  
“Pick and choose. Yeah. Yeah.”  
  
Anyone else, Anita would have given a demerit or ten for sass. But this is Cyrus and Anita has never denied she has a soft spot. “You’re smart, Mr. Lupo. Don’t act like you don’t understand.”  
  
“I understand.” Cyrus looks at Ed, who’s still not said a word. “I don’t like it, though.”  
  
“No one said you had to.” Anita looks at Ed, who looks completely relaxed. “Anything to add, Mr. Green?”  
  
He gives a half-hearted shrug. “It’s not like I can say anything that’s gonna make the rulebook change itself.”  
  
“I appreciate your pragmatism, Mr. Green.” Anita can see very clearly that Cyrus is having the opposite reaction. “Go pack,” Anita says rather than kicking the metaphorical hornet’s nest. “Mr. Logan will help you move your things, Mr. Green.” She holds out a slip of paper. “You’ll be in room 16 in Greevy Hall. Eliot Stabler and Rey Curtis are in rooms A and B. You’ll be in room C.”  
  
Ed takes the slip of paper. “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
“You two get out of here.” Anita has no doubt the mutinous look on Cyrus’s face will explode into an epic collection of cursing once they’ve cleared her hearing. She’ll let him have it. It feels like the best she can do given the situation.  
  
In the hallway, Lupo lets go. “This fucking sucks. I mean, come the fuck on! It’s not like you can get me-“ He stops talking and blushes. “You know.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” Ed smiles at Lupo and reaches out for his hand. “Look, it’s not like we’re not gonna see each other, man.”  
  
Lupo looks down at their hands and squeezes his fingers against Ed’s. “I just don’t wanna-“  
  
“We’re gonna be fine.”   
  
“Yeah, but-“  
  
“Lup,” Ed pulls Lupo out the front door of the academic building and pushes him against the brickwork. “We’ll be okay.”  
  
“What if your new roommates suck?”  
  
Ed shrugs. “Then they suck. And I spend all my time with you. Which I was gonna do anyway.”  
  
Lupo can’t look at Ed. He looks across the front lawn at the gates. “What if the new guy in our suite sucks?”  
  
“Then you spend all yoru time with me.”  
  
“And what if-“  
  
Ed puts a hand over Lupo’s mouth. “If it sucks, we work with it. But it probably won’t suck.” Lupo licks Ed’s palm, and Ed jerks his hand away. “Gross.”  
  
Lupo grins half-heatedly. “I don’t want you to move out.”  
  
“And I don’t wanna go, but we’ve gotta.”  
  
“This sucks.”  
  
“Yeah.” Ed sighs and slouches against Lupo for a few seconds. “I know.”  
  
The front door swings open, and Mr. Logan walks out, old brown coat flapping in the breeze. “Come on, boys,” he says without looking over, “let’s make this quick.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Ed says and tightens his fingers around Lupo’s as they follow in Mr. Logan’s wake. “Right behind you.”  
  
“This sucks.” Lupo reiterates.  
  
“Yeah, so do vacuums,” Mr. Logan shoots back.


	18. Parents' Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack, on Parents' Day, and Mike's parents.

Parents’ Day is a mixed bag at Manhattan Prep. Some of the parents know every nuance of their children’s lives on campus. Some of the parents seem to barely know the names of their children, and some parents fall into the middle range of so many parents of teenagers, where they simply look mildly lost and scared.  
  
And then there’s John, who feels that every Parents’ Day needs to same rant.  
  
“…drop of their kids and ignore them only to show up and pretend to-“  
  
“John,” Fin says in the tone that tells Jack they’ve recently argued about something different, “shut up.”  
  
“…give a damn,” John continues, giving Fin a challenging look.  
  
Jack shares a long-suffering look with Lennie as they both get up from the table and head towards the door. “Some traditions,” Jack says and leaves it at that.  
  
Lennie grins. “I’d say we tape his mouth shut next year.”  
  
“He’d probably chew through it.”   
  
Lennie chuckles. “But it may gum up the works for a little bit.”  
  
Jack smiles at that as they step outside and head for the academic building. Already there are parents getting led around by their kids. Some asking questions. Some looking bored, and a few students just looking disappointed, no doubt they’ll be left to their own devices for the day. It’s the disappointed kids that make Jack see Munch’s point, and Jack makes a note to buy Munch a beer the next time they go into the city.  
  
“Mr. McCoy! Mr. Briscoe!”  
  
Both men turn at the sound of Ed Green’s shout. He’s leading his grandmother. She’s tall and imperious, even in jeans and sneakers, and she knows every trick her grandson pulls. She’s doting without being obnoxious and is, overall, well-liked.  
  
“Mr. Green,” Jack greets him with a nod. He holds out his hand. “Mrs. Green. You’re looking lovely.”  
  
“Always a flatterer, Mr. McCoy.” She shakes his hand firmly and does the same with Lennie. “Anything I need to know about Ed this trip?”  
  
“He’s a rascal,” Lennie says, but it’s his usual answer.   
  
Mrs. Green smiles and taps Ed on the top of his head. “Gets it from his grandfather.”  
  
“Get it from you,” Ed says as he smiles and ducks out of her way.  
  
“Scoundrel,” Mrs. Green says fondly as she waves at Jack and Lennie and allows Ed to lead her away. “And don’t forget to show me your new room,” they hear her insisting. “And I need to have a talk with Cyrus.”  
  
“That poor kid,” Lennie says as they start walking again.  
  
”Which one?”  
  
Lennie barks a laugh. “Either, but more Cyrus. That kid…” he trails off, the lack of Cyrus’s family at any school event has spoken for itself over the years.   
  
“It’ll be good for him,” Jack says as they enter the academic building around a throng of sight-seers. “He should get scared of the in-laws as early as possible.” Jack grins at the way Lennie shakes his head. “I’ll see you at lunch.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
The morning is a collection of parents and students dropping in, a little bit of grading, and Jack double-checking the questions on his final exam. He shakes hands and makes nice and has conversations that make him want to tear out his hair because it’s so very obvious which parents actually converse with their children and which ones just leave them on campus just as Munch always predicts.  
  
Just before eleven, Cyrus walks in, gives Jack a pained look, and settles at a desk. “Something I can do for you, Mr. Lupo?” Jack asks, but he already knows the answer. Cyrus camps out in a different teacher’s room every year during Parents’ Day. A few other students do the same, but Cyrus is the only one who rotates.  
  
“I’m just hanging.”  
  
Jack nods and goes back to his grading. Lupo sits quietly and reads a book. Jack considers putting him to work doing some of his filing, as long as he’s handy, but then Mike walks in, trailed by his parents, and Jack has to steel himself when Mike licks his lips in nervousness. Jack’s mind’s eye shows him Mike on his back on that hotel room bed.  
  
Jack’s mind’s eye is apparently a bastard.  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” he says because it’s safe.  
  
“Hi, Mr. McCoy.” Mike doesn’t seem to know where to look. Every time he looks at Jack, he gets flushed on the tips of his ears. “My parents,” he says and waves in their general direction.  
  
“Nice to meet you,” Jack says and shakes their hands. Mike’s nose and chin, Jack sees, comes from his father, and his eyes come from his mother. They both smile at Jack, and Jack smiles back. “Mr. Cutter is an excellent student.”  
  
“He always has been.” Mrs. Cutter has a doting smile Jack can see is genuine. He wonders what her face would do if she knew what he had done to her son.  
  
“We’ll be sad to lose him on the trial team,” Jack continues on auto-pilot. He can do this. He can talk to the Cutters as though he’s not seen their son in nothing but a towel. He can talk to them like he hasn’t had a beautiful, filthy moment in a restaurant bathroom. “Mr. Cutter has an excellent head for argument.”  
  
“Don’t we know it,” Mr. Cutter says with a grin. “You should have heard some of the arguments about how he was going to finish high school.”  
  
“Dad,” Mike winces in embarrassment. “Please, don’t.”  
  
Mr. Cutter smiles at Jack. “It’s so easy to embarrass them at this age.”  
  
Jack’s thinking that Mike doesn’t embarrass easily at all. Not that he’d inform Mr. Cutter how he knows. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders. He’ll do well.”  
  
“C’mon,” Mike says suddenly, feet shuffling as he backpedals towards the door. “I’ve got other teachers.”  
  
“Mike, don’t be rude,” Mrs. Cutter admonishes in the way of well-raised mothers everywhere. She gives Jack an apologetic smile. “I hope he’s not like this when he’s in class.”  
  
“No,” Jack says with a completely straight face, his mind flashing to Mike crawling into his chair. “He really is a very good student.”  
  
“Good.” Mrs. Cutter waves goodbye as they all exit the room.  
  
Jack sits back in his chair and is in the middle of a deep, cleansing breath when he realizes that Cyrus Lupo is still in the room. And Cyrus Lupo is giving him a hard look. “Yes, Mr. Lupo?”  
  
“I know about,” Cyrus makes an aborted gesture that could be directed at the desk or the lights or even the door. “Mike’s told me.”  
  
Jack’s deep, cleansing breath seems to retreat from his body. He nearly chokes for a moment before placing his hands firmly on the desktop and giving Cyrus his best professional look. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Lupo.”  
  
“You do, too.” Cyrus shrugs, one shoulder lifting and dropping in a light, inelegant move. “I don’t care. I just wanted you to know that I know.”  
  
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Lupo?”  
  
“I dunno,” Cyrus says as he stands and leaves in what seems to be a dramatic fashion.  
  
Jack lets himself slump into his chair, and this time the cleansing breath doesn’t get stuck. It also doesn’t do much to calm him. He rattles his fingers against the desktop and glares at his final exam. Another breath doesn’t do anything but make him mildly light headed.   
  
“Jack.”  
  
Jack looks up. Lennie’s in the doorway looking slightly concerned. “Yeah?”  
  
“You were zoning. Everything-“  
  
“It’s fine,” Jack cuts in because he doesn’t want to have this conversation. “Lunchtime?”  
  
Lennie considers pushing, but it’s not the time or place, and he’s fairly certain he can pick out the issue without jabbing at Jack. “Yeah. Come on. I’m sure Munch has a list of faults of the day.”  
  
“Great.” Jack levers himself out of his chair and claps Lennie on the shoulder as they walk down the hall. “Thanks.”  
  
“Yeah, sure.”


	19. Jack Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's back, and so's the angst.

“Practice,” Coach Fin says gravely as the guys settle on the bleachers by the pool, “is the only thing that’s gonna get your scrawny butts past regionals. You understand me?” He waits for a general murmur of agreement and nods once. “Don’t think you get to slack now that you’re on the board for the regionals. Regionals don’t mean state. Understood?” There’s another murmur of agreement. “All right, then. Find time to practice. Don’t care if you’re in here to relieve stress or avoid your roommates; just find the time.” He waves a hand and the boys scatter. He manages to grab Mike Cutter as he tries to escape.  
  
“Something you need, Coach?” Mike asks, voice steady but he can’t quite look Fin in the eyes.  
  
“Your times are off, Cutter. Your butterfly’s down by a whole second. I just wanna be clear that when I say, “everyone should practice”, I mean “you should practice”. You got it?”  
  
Mike nods, reminding himself that Coach Fin isn’t actually as menacing as he always seems to be when he’s lecturing. “Got it, Coach.”  
  
“Good. You’re a good swimmer, Cutter. I don’t know what’s got your head wrapped up, but shake it loose.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Mike mutters and breaks for the showers. He can’t imagine Coach Fin’s response to finding out it’s Jack McCoy that’s making Mike lose concentration. His other teacher’s have called him on it as well, but Mike’s just muttered about heavy homework loads and concerns over swim team regionals. Now that Coach Fin’s caught on, he’s out of excuses.  
  
“Head in the game, Mikey,” Mike says under his breath as he pushes open the door to the lockerroom. Jack’s been gone nearly a month. All Mike can do is get over it and move on. Put some time into practice, like Coach has ordered, and see if laps won’t actually do him some good.   
  
Mike sits down at his desk after dinner and charts out his week. He needs at least an hour of trial practice a night, which he already has penciled in for directly after dinner, and he needs time to do his homework. Homework usually takes another hour. The pool stays open until ten, and that’d give him about an hour and a half to swim.   
  
“Hey,” Lupo says, breaking Mike’s thought process. He walks into the room and flops onto Mike’s bed like he doesn’t have bones. “Kevin’s studying. You’re studying. This place is boring.”  
  
“So go see Ed,” Mike says, although he knows Lupo won’t.   
  
“He’s probably hanging out with his new roommates.”   
  
“You always say that.”  
  
Lupo shrugs, looking like he’s been kicked. “Yeah, well.”  
  
Mike works his mouth back and forth, trying to come up with something. What would Ed say, he wonders. “Dude, we can’t both be lame.”  
  
Lupo’s eyebrows come together. “What?”  
  
“You’re bumming around because Ed’s in another hall, and I’m bumming around because, well, you know, and it’s kinda sad. Coach Fin jumped my ass tonight because my time’s are way down, and you won’t get off your ass and go see Ed because he might be hanging with his roommates.” Mike breathes in and out, watching the way Lupo’s face pinches. “Dude, you suck.”  
  
“You sound like Ed,” but it’s not quite as accusatory as Lupo would like it to be.  
  
Mike shrugs. “Maybe. But he could always make a point.”  
  
“Yeah.” Lupo sighs like the world’s ending, and then he rolls off the bed. “Gotta find my shoes,” which is his way of saying he’s going to see Ed.  
  
“Catch you later,” Mike says and looks at his chart again. He could tack it to his bulletin board, call it a night, and veg in the living room. He stands up and pulls his spare suit from a drawer, slipping it on with Coach Fin’s not-quite-accusatory-but-still-pointed tone rolling through his head.   
  
“Going out!” He yells to Kevin’s door, and he takes the stairs down to get his heart pumping before he hits the pool. He cuts across the quad at a slow jog and enters the pool from the main doors.   
  
It’s almost eerily quiet, and Mike exhales loudly just to make some noise. He pads around the pool to the line of starting podiums and strips down to his suit. He stretches, mindful of all the lectures from Coach Fin, and he launches off the starting block with his best butterfly time buzzing in the back of his head.  
  
His first attempt is four seconds too long. Mike jumps from the starting block for his second attempt and nearly belly flops when he sees a silhouette out of the corner of his eye. He’s already in the water, so he swims the length of the pool. It can’t be who he thinks it is. It can’t be Jack. But when Mike surfaces on the other end of the pool, Jack is crouching down and smiling at him.  
  
“Hi,” Mike says as he gasps for air.  
  
“Hello,” Jack says and gives Mike a once-over. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”  
  
“You’re not interrupting. Coach Fin’s just-“ Mike presses his mouth closed and digs his fingers into the tile along the edge of the pool. “I was just talking about you.” It’s not what he wants to say, but it’s enough truth for the moment.   
  
“I had to leave,” Jack says quietly, and he’s not quite looking at Mike. “I stayed longer than I should have.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“You should always take credit where it’s due, Mike, but my inability to act like a rational adult is not your fault.”  
  
“I didn’t help,” Mike says with a grimace. “The bathroom thing-“  
  
“Not now,” Jack says, his voice slightly rough. He looks away for a moment, and Mike watches the way his face tightens.   
  
“I want…” Mike’s not sure what he’s trying to articulate. He wants so much. He wants Jack. He wants to pull himself out of the pool, back Jack against a wall, and kiss him until Jack kisses back.   
  
“I know,” Jack stands and slides his hands into his pockets. “Mike,” he sighs out a breath and squints at the far wall. “I’m coming back to school come Monday. Lennie’s done well taking care of things for me, but I need to be here for regionals.”  
  
Mike listens to the water lap around him in the pool. He pulls himself out of the water, pausing to get his footing and catching the way Jack looks at his chest and arms. It makes him flush, but he looks Jack in the eyes. “It’s good to see you, Mr. McCoy.”   
  
“And you, Mr. Cutter.” Jack takes a step back. “I’ll see you in class on Monday.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Mike rotates himself so that he’s facing the pool, and he listens to Jack leave. He is an athlete and a scholar, and he can handle this. He just needs to remember to breathe and not look around until he hears the door clang shut.  
  
He gets down to his best butterfly time after his fifth attempt. He shaves off another half a second after his ninth. Mike doesn’t leave the pool until the janitor comes in and kicks him out at a quarter before midnight.


	20. Anniversary Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike helps Lupo shop for his and Ed's anniversary. And then they talk about their feelings.

When Lupo walks in and flops on Mike’s bed, Mike doesn’t bother looking up from his computer screen. Lupo flopping onto his bed has become such common practice Mike doesn’t even bother with a greeting until Lupo sighs and announces:  
  
“I have to buy him something.”  
  
“Who?” Mike asks while hitting save on his computer.  
  
“Ed. We’ve been, you know, for three months. I have to buy him something.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because.” Lupo shrugs when Mike finally looks at him. “Because.”  
  
Mike wonders just how much is behind Lupo’s “because”. He decides it’s best to be pro-active. Getting Lupo to explain his logic can get a bit…loopy. And Mike makes a face at his own phrasing. “When’s the next bus for the city?”  
  
“An hour.”  
  
“Lemme find my shoes.”  
  
Lupo blinks and rolls over to watch Mike dig under his bed. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Finding my shoes,” Mike’s voice is muffled as he reaches a little further. “I think one’s way back here.”  
  
Lupo blinks again. “We’re going now?”  
  
Mike comes out from under the bed, dust bunnies caught in hair and shoes in his hands. “Yeah.” He squints at Lupo. “I’ve got time. You’ve got time, right?”  
  
“Yeah, but…”  
  
“Look, if we go now, we’ve got most of the day to find something, and you’re gonna need a lot of time, probably. Right?”  
  
Lupo considers it. “Yeah. Probably.”  
  
”So let’s go.”  
  
“But, I…I dunno what to get him.”  
  
Mike pauses at that. “You don’t?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then why do you want to get him something?” Mike laughs when Lupo blushes. “Oh, man. You don’t-“  
  
“Shaddup.”  
  
Mike snaps his mouth shut and fights back the laugh. “Okay. Sorry.”  
  
“Dick,” Lupo says, but there’s no malice.  
  
“Sorry,” Mike says again as he grabs his wallet. “You still wanna go?”  
  
“Yeah.” Lupo clambers off Mike’s bed and rearranges his T-shirt. “But you can’t tell Ed.”  
  
“Sure,” Mike says and follows Lupo out of the room.   
  
They grab a quick lunch in the cafeteria before they board the bus, and Mike pretends not to notice the way Lupo can’t stop tapping his feet and cracking his knuckles all the way into the city.  
  
“Where do we start?” Lupo asks like Mike knows what they’re doing.  
  
Mike turns around in a circle, trying to pick a route that will be beneficial to any degree. “Bookstore?”  
  
“Nah.”  
  
“Sports equipment?”  
  
Lupo wrinkles his nose. “The stuff he has smells bad enough.”  
  
There’s a second-hand shop on the corner, and Mike grabs Lupo’s arm. “We’ll start there. Places like that always have weird stuff.”  
  
“Weird would be good.”   
  
Mike laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”  
  
The second-hand shop is a mess of unmatched shelves and dusty counter tops. The man behind the counter looks up from his newspaper and decides, with the way he drops his eyes back to the business section, that the boys are not worth his concern.  
  
“Split up,” Mike says because Lupo’s wide eyes tell him he has to take charge. “Holler if you find anything.”  
  
“Okay.” Lupo looks left, then right, and finally ducks down the aisle he’s already facing.   
  
Mike heads for the far side of the store, wrinkling his nose to keep from sneezing. He ends up in a book aisle that is sharing space with a collection of old dolls. Mike tries not to look at the dolls and tries to remember if he’s seen Ed read anything that isn’t a textbook. Ed’s usually more of Halo guy when he’s not dragging Mike and Lupo to go play a game of catch. Mike rounds the aisle and starts up the next. He loses himself in a collection of musty National Geographics and only comes out of it when Lupo nudges him in the leg.   
  
“Found something,” Lupo says, and holds out a baseball.  
  
It’s tempting to point out that Ed has enough baseballs that he hasn’t noticed when Mike’s secretly gotten rid of a few, but Mike takes the ball and rolls it over in his hands, wanting to see what makes this particularly ball so special.   
  
WILMER FIELDS is printed neatly between the stitching, and underneath the printing is a smudged signature.  
  
“Who’s Wilmer Fields?” Mike asks.  
  
“He played in the Negro Leagues. Ed’s grandpa saw him play once.” Lupo shuffles his feet and clenches his hands. “Do you think it’s okay?”  
  
Mike’s experience in buying gifts for people extends no further than his parents on their respective birthdays. “I think it’s great,” he says, because he can’t imagine Ed not thinking it’s awesome.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Mike says and stands. “Come on, let’s buy it and go waste some time.”  
  
The guy at the counter gives them both a solid once-over when they step up to the register. “You boys ready?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Lupo says and wipes his hands on his pants after he puts the ball on the counter.  
  
The man picks up the ball and turns it over in his hands. He gives Lupo a long look. “This better be an important gift.”  
  
“It is.” Lupo swallows. “It’s for my, um, my boyfriend.”  
  
Mike watches the man’s eyebrows raise and feels a prickle up his spine, ready to grab Lupo and bolt for the door if it’s necessary.  
  
“Anniversary?” The man says nonchalantly.  
  
“Just because,” and Lupo’s staring at the counter like it’s going to do a trick.  
  
“That’s nice,” the man hits the register keys and puts the ball into a brown sack. “nine-fifty, even.”  
  
Lupo hands over a ten, the man gives him change, and Mike and Lupo hurry out the door.  
They’re halfway down the block before Lupo starts laughing, rolling his eyes and glancing at Mike. “God, I’m such a girl.”  
  
“Maybe a little,” Mike says just to make Lupo laugh harder. Something’s weighing on Mike’s shoulders, and he tries to shrug it off. “Ed will like it.”  
  
“You okay?” Lupo asks, eyebrows pulling together as he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and looks at Mike. “You look…weird.”  
  
It’s hitting Mike like a ton of bricks that Lupo’s gift for Ed, simple as it is, isn’t something that Mike can do even if he had any sort of ridiculous chance with Mr. McCoy. Gifts would be out of the question. Hell, even talking would be out of the question. Mike feels his chest clench up, and he tries to breathe deep. He’s not aware of Lupo reacting until he’s pulled into a dim, claustrophobic bookshop and comes to his senses somewhere in the mystery section.  
  
“Mike,” Lupo whispers like they’re in a library, “you okay?”  
  
“Fine,” Mike mutters.  
  
Lupo cocks his head and recognizes something in the way Mike’s shoulders are bowed forward. “Oh, shit, man. You’ve got it bad.”  
  
“Shaddup,” Mike says because he very intensely does not want to talk about it.  
  
“Hey, man,” Lupo punches Mike on the shoulder so that he’ll look at him, even if it is a glare. “Look, you were cool with my whole Ed thing. I’m cool with your…thing. You know. About the guy.”  
  
“It’s stupid, you know? I just don’t have a chance.”  
  
Lupo shrugs. “I didn’t think I did.”  
  
“Dude, teacher.”  
  
Lupo rolls his eyes. “Dude, jock.”  
  
It’s not an argument he’s going to win, Mike knows. He breathes in; he breathes out. He rearranges his shoulders and knocks Lupo in the shoulder. “Whatever. Let’s go.”  
  
“Hold on.” Lupo gives Mike a hard look. “We’re good, yeah?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“And seriously, man, you can talk to me. I’m not gonna freak or anything.”  
  
“I know,” Mike says and lets Lupo lead him back outside. There’s still a heaviness in him, but Mike fights it down. Unrequited sucks, but at least Lupo kind of gets it.


	21. Jack Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Jack left Manhattan Prep after that night in the mock trial room.

The on-call duty roster rotates weekly. Two staff members are always on-call should something happen to any of the students during the night after curfew. To be a faculty member on duty is to not sleep peacefully for seven straight days. As Headmistress, Anita is always on-call, phone ringing in the middle of the night on any given night because the rules stipulate that she is to be contacted under specific circumstances.  
  
So the knock on her door at a quarter of two doesn’t surprise her, though she takes the time to curse quietly as she trudges around her ottoman and looks through her peephole.  
  
“Jack,” she says as she opens the door. “You’re not on-call.”  
  
“This isn’t-“ Jack cuts off and just stares at Anita for a moment. “I have to leave.”  
  
Anita blinks. The clock by her door informs her it is 1:48 in the morning. “Get in here,” she says after a moment, stepping aside so Jack can enter.  
  
”I have to-“  
  
“Now, McCoy.” It is too late for Anita to try and make nice. “Get your ass into my kitchen before I drag you there myself.” She watches Jack walk in, shoulders bowed, one hand clutching the strap of his worn duffel bag. “Sit,” she snaps when Jack looks ready to remain standing in her kitchen.  
  
“Anita-“  
  
“Shut up,” she says, and starts to make tea. “We’re mid-semester, Jack. I don’t have the time to find someone to step up for you because you’ve decided you need to have a crisis.”  
  
“I already talked to Lennie. He can cover mock trial, and you can easily find a sub to handle my classload.”  
  
Anita sets tea cups on the table and pours hot water into Jack’s cup first. “Which tells me you’ve had at least a little bit of time to plan.” She sits and watches Jack squeeze his hands together on her tabletop. “What happened?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Anita Van Buren has been lied to by the best [Ed Green and his easy smile] and the worst [Cyrus Lupo and his inability to meet her eyes]. Jack falls somewhere in the lower edge, his mussed hair and white knuckles telling Anita everything she needs to know about his state of mind. “Jack,” she softens her tone, “let me help.”  
  
“There’s nothing to help.” Jack sips his tea.  
  
“Are you planning on coming back?”   
  
“I don’t know yet.”  
  
“Would you like to come back?”  
  
Jack sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “If it’s possible.”  
  
Anita’s brows pull together, and she taps her fingers on the edge of her saucer. “Give me something, Jack. I can’t just approve a mid-semester leave of absence without reason.”  
  
“Exhaustion,” Jack mutters. “Fatigue. General inability to-“ he presses his lips together.  
  
For a brief moment, Anita considers pushing the issue and seeing what she can get Jack to admit to by making him stay put for just a few minutes. The clock on the stove says 1:56. The lines that are starting to come in around Jack’s eyes are stark in the mostly-dark. “I can’t have you gone forever.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“How much of this has to do with Mike Cutter?” She can’t help asking; it’s been on her top five concerns for the year, right behind fixing the drafts in the female dormitory and arguing the type of sex ed to teach with the school board.  
  
“Enough,” Jack says quietly. He finally looks up from his teacup and straight at Anita. “I need a little time to get my head on straight. You weren’t totally wrong with your concerns, Anita.”  
  
“I know.” She stands and takes away Jack’s teacup. “Get out of here. Check in with me in a few days, let me know if I need to plan out further than a week or two.”  
  
“I-“  
  
“You’re welcome.” Anita puts the cups in the sink. “Now get out of here so that I can get back to sleep before someone shows up at my door with liquor in one hand and a student in the other.” Anita doesn’t turn around to watch him leave. She tracks him to the door by his footsteps and leans heavily on the sink for just a minute. This is not what she needs, but sudden emergencies around the school rarely are.  
  
“You agreed to do this job,” she tells herself. “So suck up and do it.”   
  
“Hon?” Donald’s standing in the kitchen door, eyes narrowed against the light coming from the living room. “Something up?”  
  
“Something’s always up around here.”  
  
Donald chuckles tiredly. “Something that needs your attention at this exact moment?”  
  
Anita smiles and walks across the room. “Yes, but no.”  
  
“Okay.” Donald’s used to such answers and slips an arm around Anita’s shoulders. “Back to bed, then?”  
  
“Sure.” Anita leans her head on Donald’s shoulder and lets him lead her to bed. She pushes Jack and his crisis out of her head as she closes her eyes. She’ll do better after some sleep, she knows. “Goodnight.”  
  
“’Night, honey,” Donald says. He drops off almost immediately.  
  
The clock reads 3:27 before Anita manages to really close off and fall asleep.


	22. Dating Woes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lupo is not a natural at being the popular guy's guy.

Being Ed’s boyfriend is weird. People keep looking at Lupo like he’s going to do a trick, and he wonders if he looks different. It’s probably just that Ed always holds his hand now, but Lupo can’t help but check his shirt for stains.  
  
“Relax, Lupe,” Ed says with a smile. “They’re just jealous.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” Lupo says, because he knows they’re not so much jealous of him as mad that he’s taken Ed off the market.  
  
“You are such a bitch,” some girl with long curly hair tells him one day during Munch’s history rant. “Everyone’s wanted him forever.”  
  
“I’ve heard,” is all Lupo can manage around the amazing amount of uncomfortableness that’s building in his ribcage.  
  
“If you don’t mind,” Munch says coldly from the front of the room, his eyes squarely on Lupo. “Some of us are paid to be useful.”  
  
The uncomfortableness turns into a blush, and Lupo doesn’t look up from his textbook for the rest of the class.  
  
Ed meets him at the door, grinning and reaching for his hand. “Hey.”  
  
Lupo tucks his hands into his pockets. “Hey.”  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Uh-huh,” Ed says, and bumps Lupo’s shoulder with his. “What’s up?”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
Ed grabs Lupo’s sleeve and pulls him to the side of the hallway. “Okay, we’re not gonna do this.”  
  
“Do what?” Lupo stares at the tiles and listens as the hall empties out.  
  
“This. Where something happens and you get all quiet and creepy.” Ed shakes Lupo’s arm for emphasis, and smiles when Lupo looks at him. “Come on. What’s up?”  
  
“It’s weird.”  
  
Ed counts to ten, and then twenty, and he finally gives up on getting more when he hits forty-seven. “”What’s weird?”  
  
“I’ve never been anyone’s boyfriend.” Lupo flushes and drops his eyes to stare at his shoes. “It’s just, it’s really weird.” Lupo looks up again when Ed doesn’t say anything for a while. “We’re late for class.” He tries to walk away, but Ed holds out an arm to stop him.  
  
“Who’s the hall monitor this period?”  
  
“Headmistress Van Buren always takes the period before lunch.”  
  
That complicates things, and Ed considers places to hide. “Come on.” He pulls Lupo into the nearest bathroom and checks under all the stall doors. “Okay. This’ll work.” He looks at Lupo again, and isn’t surprised to find Lupo staring at the tiles. “Talk to me, man. I can’t reassure you if you won’t say anything.”  
  
“I don’t want to be reassured!” Lupo says with the sudden anger Ed was expecting. Lupo usually gets suddenly angry when Ed pushes him to have conversations that make him uncomfortable. “I wanna be your boyfriend, but I don’t wanna be your boyfriend, you know?”  
  
Ed doesn’t, not really, but he’s willing to take a guess. “You wanna, what? Be with me and not get stared at?”  
  
“I don’t care about that.” Lupo glances at Ed and looks away again. “I just want people to stop acting like it’s weird.”  
  
“Who’s acting like it’s weird?” Ed doesn’t even bother to count this time. He knows he won’t get a straight answer. Lupo will make a few noises and mutter and try to change the subject.  
  
“We’re late.”  
  
“So?” Ed moves in close to Lupo and headbutts his lightly. “Like Van Buren would come in the boys’ bathroom.”  
  
“She has before.”  
  
“Well, shit.” Ed grins when Lupo laughs a little. “Better get out, then.” He grabs Lupo’s hand before he can step out of reach. “Fuck ‘em, Lup.”  
  
“Okay,” Lupo says, but it’s not convincing at all.  
  
Ed squeezes Lupo’s hand to make him look at him. “Fuck ‘em.” He says more deliberately. “You’re my boyfriend. That’s not gonna change, all right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Lupo says. The shy smile that’s pressing the left side of his mouth helps bolster the almost-conviction in his voice. “Okay.”


	23. One Night in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the nacho places, in all the cities, in all the world...

The third weekend after Jack’s sudden departure, Lupo grabs Mike and informs him that he’s getting dragged into the city.  
  
“I have-“  
  
“Homework. Yeah. Neat. Look, you’re being a mopey shit. You’re coming into the city.”  
  
“I am not,” though Mike’s not sure which point he’s arguing. “I have homework.”  
  
“Fascinating,” Ed says on flyby, shirt on but unbuttoned. “We have to be back by midnight,” he continues as he walks into his room. “You can do your homework tomorrow.”  
  
“This is part of that relaxation thing,” Lupo explains when Mike looks pained. “Come on. It won’t be all bad.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Mike knows he sounds a bit sad and pathetic, but he can’t quite help it. It’s been weird spending the last three weeks without Jack around. There’s no one to really talk to about mock trial. The team still thinks he’s kind of a weirdo, and he knows he alienated them with the way he hung around and chatted with Jack when everyone else was in a hurry to leave.  
  
“Nachos!” Ed yells from his room. “Heaps and heaps of nachos! I know this great place, my grandma always took me, best nachos ever! None of this cafeteria velveeta shit.”   
  
Lupo grins at Mike. “He makes a good point.”  
  
Mike sighs, feeling guilty for hating the way Lupo looks so happy and relaxed. Since he and Ed have pieced together their relationship, it’s been almost intolerable to be in the same suite with them. They’re just so…pleased. “I have mock trial stuff.”  
  
“Fuck it,” Lupo says casually. “At least for the night.”  
  
“We don’t take no for an answer.” Ed states as he walks out of his room, shirt buttoned, shoes on, and smelling faintly of fresh aftershave. “So get out of the school gear and into people clothes and get your ass in gear.”  
  
There’s no argument for the casual way Ed grins at him, one arm slung over Lupo’s shoulders. There’s no argument for the look Lupo’s giving him. It clearly reads, ‘sack up, you sad shit’, and Mike knows that if he doesn’t go out tonight, he’ll have Lupo’s complete intensity on him for days to come. “Fine. Gimmie a second.”  
  
“Sweet,” Ed says and tugs at Lupo. “We’ll wait.”  
  
Mike turns around before he can see exactly how they’ll wait. He jerks off every night remembering the way Jack kissed him. Watching Ed and Lupo make out doesn’t help the knot in his stomach or the half-hard state of his cock. He makes a face at himself in his mirror as he opens his dresser and digs around for a pair of jeans.  
  
“Don’t forget your undershirt!” Ed yells, half-laughing. The laugh turns into something that might be a moan.  
  
“No sex on the couch!” Mike yells back, because just thinking of his undershirts makes him tingle a little. He throws on the first pair of jeans he finds, slips into his walking around shoes and grabs a white shirt from his closet. It feels small around his shoulders and he has to tug it a little to adjust it over his arms. “Shit.”  
  
“Shirt,” Lupo says from Mike’s doorway, grinning a little and slightly more mussed than he was three minutes before.  
  
”Funny,” Mike says and rolls his eyes. He grapples with his shirt a bit more. “I need new shirts. They’re getting too tight.”  
  
“How’d that happen?”  
  
“Swim team regionals are in three weeks, and Coach Fin’s been on us like crazy.” Mike finally gets his shirt settled comfortably buttons it down the front. “Shit.”  
  
“You look okay.”  
  
Mike looks himself over in the mirror. The shirt feels almost small, but in the mirror, it just looks like a shirt. “You sure?”  
  
“Hey, ladies, we’re gonna miss the bus.” Ed hollers from the living room. “Move it or lose it.”  
  
“We’re coming,” Lupo throws over his shoulder. He gives Mike a slightly concerned look. “Right?”  
  
“Yeah,” Mike says, grabbing his wallet and his room keys. “I’m already dressed, might as well.”  
  
“God, but you’re a downer,” Ed declares as he leads them out the door. “You definitely need nachos.”  
  
Mike just grins a little and stays silent as they clatter down the stairs, out the door of Schiff Hall, and onto the bus that’s taking them and about twenty other students into the city.  
  
“Mike!” Connie waves from near the back of the bus. Mike and the guys make their way to her. She slides over so Mike can sit next to her, and Ed and Lupo take the seat directly in front of them. “Where are you guys going tonight?”  
  
“Ed’s got a nacho boner,” Lupo states and doesn’t seme to notice the way Connie’s eyes widen. “He says he knows a place.”  
  
“I do know a place,” Ed says and smiles at Connie. “You can come if you want.”  
  
“No, thanks. I’m going to the park with Claire and Alex. There’s a performance we want to see that Mr. Goren mentioned.” Connie glances out the bus window as they turn a corner. “Unless it rains.”  
  
“It won’t rain.”  
  
Connie smiles at Ed. “And if you’re wrong?”  
  
He shrugs. “It rains. What’s a little rain?”  
  
An hour later, soaked to the skin and standing on line to Ed’s nacho place -- a hole in the wall if ever there was one -- Mike can’t help but snap, “What’s a little rain? Fuck you, man.”  
  
Lupo grins, water streaming off his hair and down his face. “You got him to curse!”  
  
“Win!” Ed high fives Lupo and holds up his hands in a placating gesture when Mike glares at him. “Come on, man, it’s not like you’ve got a hot date. You’re in the city with us. We’ve seen you look a lot worse.”  
  
“I’m wet,” Mike says tersely. “And my jeans are chafing.”  
  
“You need looser jeans.”  
  
The way Ed says it, somehow both flippant and apologetic, makes Mike break into a grin. “Fuck you,” he says again, but there’s a laugh at the end of it.  
  
“I think you’d be used to it,” Lupo says quietly, but with a sly edge to his voice. “You practically live at the pool.”  
  
“Not in my clothes, I don’t.”  
  
They finally make it in the door, and there’s a hostess handing out towels. “How many in your party?”  
  
“Three,” Ed says as he dries his head. “Non-smoking.”  
  
She gathers up menus and gestures. “Follow me, please.” She leads them to a booth on the back wall and smiles when they settle in. “Your server will be here momentarily. Hope you guys have a great night.” She gives Ed an extra second of the smile and walks away.  
  
”Think she likes you,” Lupo mutters, not looking pleased at all.  
  
”Too bad for her,” Ed returns, arm going behind Lupo to rest on the top of the booth. His fingertips almost brush Lupo’s shoulder.  
  
Mike wonders if the tightness in his gut at the sight of them being a couple will pass any time soon. He hadn’t had a problem before-  
  
“Hey, isn’t that Mr. McCoy?”  
  
Mike’s head whips around to follow Ed’s gaze. For a minute, all he can see is a crowd of people at the door. But then, the crowd resettles itself, and it’s Jack in profile, talking to a hostess. Mike can’t help but stare, watching the way Jack smiles when the hostess picks up the menus, and the way the smile alters slightly when he looks to his left at the woman who’s holding his arm.  
  
The woman who’s holding his arm. The tall, long-legged, brown haired woman who is holding his arm. And smiling at him. And laughing at something he says.  
  
Mike’s stomach drops to his feet, and he turns around slowly, sinking into himself and trying to hide his embarrassment behind his menu. “Looks like him,” he says, because he knows he has to say something.  
  
“I heard a rumor he was out sick,” Ed says, completely oblivious to the way Lupo’s trying to catch Mike’s eye.  
  
“Know what you’re having, Mike?” Lupo asks, the undertone carrying so much more than the question.  
  
“Nachos,” Mike says blandly, not actually reading his menu.  
  
“He doesn’t look sick,” Ed continues to no one. “And she’s hot.”  
  
Mike could stab Ed in the leg with his fork. “I need-“ he starts, intending to flee from the table and hide in the bathroom. Ed cuts him off.  
  
“Mr. McCoy!” Ed waves an arm in the air as Jack and the pretty woman get seated nearby.  
  
Jack turns at the sound of his name and slams his leg into the table. He curses under his breath when he recognizes Ed Green. Where there is Ed, he knows, Cyrus Lupo and Mike are not fair behind. Lupo is next to Green, and it takes just a moment for Jack to spot the top of Mike’s head over the booth.  
  
“Students of yours?” Jamie asks him, smiling as Ed waves again. “You can say hello.”  
  
There’s no way to tell Jamie that saying hello is the worst thing he could do. Jack walks over to the booth, Jamie at his side, and gives the boys a smile that feels completely false. “Mr. Green, your subtly is remarkable.”  
  
Ed grins, unrepentant. “What’s up?”  
  
“I’m having dinner,” and the wry amusement isn’t fake. Ed Green is the type to relax anyone within ten feet. “As are you.”  
  
“Best nachos in New York,” Ed says with great authority. He turns his smile on Jamie. “I’m Ed.”  
  
“Hello, Ed,” Jamie says and smiles.  
  
“This is Jamie Ross. She’s an attorney at the DA’s office here in the city. We’re old friends.” Jack breathes deep to steel himself for the introductions he’s about to make. “Jamie, this is Cyrus Lupo,” Lupo gives a small wave, “Ed Green, as you already know, and this,” Jack looks at Mike for the first time and tries not to make eye contact. “is Michael Cutter.”  
  
“Mike,” Mike says quietly, but it carries.  
  
“Mike,” Jack repeats and tries not to think about the night he left. The way Mike had said his name, the way Mike had insisted Jack call him by his. The way Mike hadn’t looked apologetic until Jack had started in on his own guilt and ethics.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you all,” Jamie says, smiling at the three of them. She spends an extra second watching Mike Cutter. Jack had given her the whole story one very late night in her office. He’d been helped along with a healthy amount of Scotch and no small amount of baiting from Jamie. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Cutter.” Jamie doesn’t have to look over to know that Jack is as tense as a bowstring. She considers dragging this out. She wants to talk to Mike Cutter, see what it is that rattles Jack so much. “Jack says you’ve put together an excellent strategy for plain view exception.”  
  
“He did?”  
  
Jamie holds back the smile at the way Mike Cutter suddenly sits up straighter. “He did. I look forward to hearing it. I’m one of the judges for the city competitions.” Jamie can see he doesn’t really have an answer to that. She can practically feel the nerves radiating from Jack. “It was nice to meet all of you.” She gives another smile and leads Jack away from the table.  
  
“You’re awful,” Jack says to her as they take their seats at their own table.  
  
“I didn’t know he was there, to be fair.” Jamie settles her napkin and picks up her menu. “Believe me, if I had, well, I’d still have dragged you over.”  
  
“Jamie, for god’s sake, I took a sabbatical to get away from him.”  
  
“Of all the Mexican places in all the cities in all the-“  
  
“Shut up,” Jack snaps, pulling open his menu with too much force. “Jamie, seriously, I can’t do this.”  
  
Jamie gives Jack a slightly apologetic smile. “Sorry,” and she means it. She gives herself to the count of ten and then, “He is quite striking.”  
  
“For the love-“ Jack stands and practically throws his menu on the table. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he ignores the way she smirks. “Order me a beer, will you?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
Jack also ignores the way she laughs when he turns and walks away. The bathroom is at the back of the restaurant, a slightly dingy single toilet with a too-bright fluorescent and a streaky mirror. Jack stares at himself and turns on the water to wash his hands when the door creaks open. “Occ-“ is as far as he gets before he recognizes Mike’s half-shadowed face in the mirror.  
  
Mike slips into the bathroom and locks the door with the hook and eye lock that Jack had missed in his hurry to be alone. “Hi,” Mike says quietly.  
  
“Mike,” Jack says, and nothing else comes out. He tries to back up, but there’s not enough room in the entire damned city to get away from him.  
  
“I’m not trying to start anything. I just wanted…” Mike trails off and swallows hard. “Where have you been?” It comes out quiet and a little bit pained.  
  
“I had to think,” Jack says, just as quietly.  
  
“Okay,” Mike responds.  
  
Jack breathes carefully and tries to relax a little. There’s no one here to see them, he thinks. There’s no one in this tiny, dingy room who could turn around and make this situation even worse. He can say anything right now, and he knows it won’t go further than Mike.   
  
“I’ve missed you.”  
  
And suddenly Jack can’t breathe. Because Mike’s looking at him, eyes wide and honest, and Jack’s realizing that Mike’s shirt is white and damp and mostly see through. “You’re not wearing an undershirt,” Jack says before he can stop it. He is ridiculously grateful that he’s past the age of an uncontrollable blush.  
  
“I’m not on campus,” and the air in the room suddenly changes, from careful and scared to charged with a heavy, intoxicating mutual need. “You’re not on campus,” and Mike’s tone has changed as well. He’s just as quiet, but there’s a confidence there. His shoulders straighten and his eyes light up, and Jack knows he is in deep, deep trouble.  
  
“Mike-“ he tries to pre-empt, but Mike ignores him.  
  
“Mr. Briscoe said you were on sabbatical. That means you don’t have any authority over me right now.” Mike takes a step forward, not touching Jack, but certainly maneuvering into his space. “Your moral and ethical issues centered around my place as your student.”   
  
Jack tries to back away, and his back hits the wall. “Mike-“  
  
“I’m not your student. Not right now that least. This is-“  
  
“Morally grey,” Jack says crisply, trying so hard to hold on. “Just because I’m not now doesn’t mean I won’t be again. I’m taking a break, Mike. I’m not-“  
  
“You keep calling me Mike.”  
  
It shouldn’t count as an argument, but it does, and Jack deflates at the way Mike smiles. “We can’t,” he says, but it’s no more than a token protest. He pushes off the wall and gets nose-to-nose with Mike. He watches him for a twitch or a tell. Anything that will justify the part of him screaming to back off. “You’ll be my student again.”  
  
“I know.” Mike pushes forward just a little, almost but not quite kissing Jack. “But right now-“  
  
“This is flagrant cheating,” Jack states, and he kisses him.   
  
It’s wet and messy, Mike’s mouth slipping off of Jack’s and sliding onto his chin for a moment. Jack grabs his head and pulls Mike in and fucks his mouth with his tongue. Mike groans and his nails scratch Jack’s bare arm where he’s rolled up his shirt sleeve.  
  
The small flare of pain snaps Jack back to himself, and he pulls away suddenly, leaving Mike open-mouthed and panting, his nails still digging into Jack’s arm. “We-“  
  
Mike doesn’t let him finish, just lunges forward and kisses him again. He tries to slow down, take it carefully, kiss like he knows what he’s doing, but all he can do is lean in, press against Jack’s chest, and keep sliding his tongue over Jack’s lower lip.   
  
Jack pulls away again and brings up a hand to cover Mike’s mouth. His thumb slips and rests on Mike’s lower lip. Jack thinks he’ll lose the last speck of his self control when Mike nips his thumbnail. “We can’t.”  
  
“We just did.” There’s a wildness to Mike’s eyes that yells out danger.  
  
“No, we didn’t.” Jack slides his hand down Mike’s neck and presses it against his chest. He pushes him back to arms’ length. “But we’re going to, and we can’t.”  
  
“But you’re not-“  
  
“I’m coming back, Mike. I’m coming back to Prep, and we can’t do this.” Jack sighs out a breath as he watches Mike’s face fall. “Not being allowed isn’t the same as not wanting,” he says quietly.   
  
“Yeah,” Mike whispers and sags against Jack’s hand. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m not,” Jack says, partly to see Mike smile, and partly because it’s the bare truth. Off the job and clearing his head for three weeks, and no matter how much he’s tried to berate himself, he still can’t find proof in his own head that he feels guilty in the slightest. “But we can’t.”  
  
“Okay.” Mike steps back, Jack’s hand dropping with the loss of contact. He breathes deep and closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, Jack’s a little bit closer. “I’m gonna go.”  
  
“Okay,” Jack says because there’s nothing else. He watches Mike leave and locks the door behind him, one hand sliding against his jeans to squeeze his cock to relieve at least a microscopic bit of tension. Jack splashes water on his face, counts to thirty, and lets himself out of the bathroom.  
  
Jamie gives him a knowing look as he sits down. “Funny thing,” she says quietly, leaning over the table so he can hear her. “That bathroom has one toilet, and yet you and Mike Cutter seem to have shared it.”  
  
“Not now, Jamie.” Jack takes a long, desperate pull of his beer and closes his eyes when he hears Mike laugh suddenly behind them.   
  
“I’m not above getting you drunk to get answers, Jack.”  
  
“Lucky me,” Jack says with a leer he’s not really feeling. Jamie’s kind enough to laugh anyway.   
  
They sit in silence for just over a minute before Jamie gives him a wicked grin. “His eyes are beautiful.”  
  
”Shut up, Jamie.”


	24. Graduation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graduation day and night for Mike Cutter.

Graduation day is extremely sunny and steaming hot. Ed, Lupo, and Mike sit on the grass of the quad, Lupo’s comforter underneath them, and peel off their shirts as the sun moves across the sky.   
  
“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Mike asks after awhile.   
  
“We’re doing something,” Ed argues, reaching for the mini-cooler he’s stocked with soda. “We’re being lazy. That’s something.”  
  
Lupo chuckles, and Mike watches the way he and Ed lean against each other, shoulders pressing and grins meeting. It twists in his gut a little, but before he can dwell on it, Ed’s lobbing a soda at his head.  
  
“You’ve gotta learn to relax, Mikey. We’re seniors. We’re graduating. All our obligations have been fully met.”  
  
“We could play catch,” Lupo says in a slow drawl, obviously comfortable exactly where he is. “Go inside and watch a movie.”  
  
As Lupo says it, Mike realizes just how content he is to stay right where he is doing as little as possible. They are seniors. They are graduating. They’re required to show up, fully dressed, and walk across a stage. “Fuck it,” he says, and doesn’t miss Ed’s raised eyebrows. “Lazy’s good.”  
  
“I’ll be damned,” Ed says, but it’s too hot to start a scuffle over his tone. “Mark the date, Lup, it’s the end of the world.”  
  
“Sure,” Lupo says and turns onto his stomach. “I’ll get on that.” He rubs his forehead against his crossed arms and closes his eyes. “Wake me if I go to bacon.”  
  
They lapse into a solid, enjoyable silence. Mike watches the underclassmen run around between classes and checks his watch. It’s just after two. Ceremonies start at seven, and they’ve nowhere to be until dinner at five. He lays flat on his back, arms behind his head, and closes his eyes against the sun. There’s a breeze rolling past, and Mike breathes deep at the feel of it.  
  
There’s a sudden shadow across his closed eyes, and Mike opens them to see Jack standing directly in front of the sun. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up. “Mr. McCoy,” Mike greets and is glad to hear that his voice doesn’t crack.  
  
“Are you all packed?” Jack asks, rather than return Mike’s greeting.  
  
“Yeah,” Ed says for all of them. “And Mikey swept up.”  
  
“Did you?” Jack finally looks at Mike, and Mike just nods. “Very good. I’ll go bother some other group, then.” He nods at the three of them and walks off.  
  
Mike closes his eyes to cut the temptation of watching Jack walk away. It’s almost over, he thinks, and lets the warmth of the sun distract him again.  
  
Seven hours later, Mike’s got a diploma in his hand and is laughing along with Lupo at Ed’s impression of their commencement speaker, who had insisted on reading a poem and reading it badly.  
  
Mrs. Green shakes her head and pokes Ed in the arm. “What have I taught you about making fun of people?”  
  
“Don’t do it in front of them,” Ed immediately retorts and laughs when his grandmother just shakes her head.  
  
“Where are you boys going tonight?” Mrs. Cutter asks, as she tries to smooth Mike’s hair. “And don’t tell me you’re staying in. I’m not naïve.”  
  
“We’re just going into the city, Mom,” Mike says and ducks to get away from her. His father pins him with a sharp look.  
  
“And you’ll be careful.”  
  
“Yes, Dad,” Mike agrees.  
  
“You’ll all be careful.” Mrs. Green points a finger at Lupo. “You especially.”  
  
Lupo’s eyes widen, but the others see his pleasure in getting called out by a parental figure. “I wouldn’t do anything.”  
  
“You’re with Ed. That tells me enough.”  
  
Lupo blushes and looks at his shoes. “Yes, ma’am.”  
  
Mr. and Mrs. Cutter share a look that Mike recognizes all too well. “I’ll call you at midnight and let you know I’m not dead, okay?”   
  
“I still think-“  
  
“He’ll be fine, dear,” Mrs. Cutter cuts in over Mr. Cutter’s objection. “Let him have fun.”  
  
“Midnight,” Mr. Cutter says after a pause. “Not a second later.”  
  
“Okay,” Mike says with a nod. “I promise.”  
  
Ed slides out of his grandmother’s grip and jerks his head at Lupo and Mike. “Let’s go. There’s nachos to be had.”  
  
“Be careful,” Mrs. Green calls after them with a wave.  
  
“Move, move, move,” Ed insists as he picks up his stride. “The sooner we’re out of their sight, the sooner the fun can begin.” Ed throws a look at Mike. “Course, it’d help to know what the fun is.”  
  
“I’m just giving you guys alone time, man.” Mike can’t quite look Ed in the eyes. “If I didn’t make it sound like I was going along, you two wouldn’t have gotten away with spending a night together. So, you know, you’re welcome.”  
  
Ed snorts. “Yeah. Sure. You’re all about charitable causes.” He slings an arm around Mike’s shoulder and gives him a squeeze. “Dude, whoever you’re meeting, you can just tell us, you know.” He doesn’t catch the sudden flash of guilt that runs across Lupo’s face. “Who is she?”  
  
“It’s not important.”  
  
“He?” Ed guesses, mostly joking. He catches the flush that Mike tries to tamp down. “Ah. I see.” He unwinds his arm from around Mike’s shoulder and pulls Lupo in close. “You could have just said so, man. Not like we have an issue.”  
  
“It’s not about him being a  _him_ , Ed. It’s about…” Mike clams up when they hit the lobby of Schiff Hall. Coach Finn is standing by to do a final check out of the seniors and gather the caps and gowns if someone doesn’t want to keep them for souvenirs. “It’s just weird,” he says as they grab their overnight bags and drop their gowns and caps with Coach. “And I can’t really explain why.”  
  
“Sure, whatever. Come on, there’s a cab waiting.” Ed nudges Mike’s shoulder to show him no hard feelings. “It’s gonna be okay, right? You’re not gonna end up dead in a ditch somewhere?”  
  
“Dude, you sound like my dad.” Mike smiles at Ed’s grin and passes a quick look to Lupo. Lupo returns it with a smile that clearly wishes good luck.   
  
An hour and a half later, having left Ed and Lupo to a squeaky bed and a promise to not return before dawn, Mike gets out of a cab in front of a mid-town apartment building and squares his shoulders as he approaches the doorman. “I’m here to see-“  
  
“Mr. Cutter,” Jack’s voice cuts into Mike’s introduction. He’s coming down the street, a brown grocery sack held in one arm. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”  
  
“I was clearing out the last of my stuff and found a couple of books I owed you. I’m leaving tomorrow, and I didn’t want to forget to drop them.” Mike hefts his backpack and doesn’t look at the doorman.  
  
“I appreciate your courtesy, Mr. Cutter.” Jack nods to the doorman and waves Mike through ahead of him. “If you want to come up for a few minutes, I’ll get those books off your hands.”  
  
“Sure,” Mike walks into the lobby of the building and strides to the elevators, listening to Jack’s footfalls behind him. He pushes the ‘up’ button and watches the numbers blink on and off as the elevator comes down to the lobby.  
  
Jack says nothing until the elevator doors close. “Impressive ad-lib.”  
  
“I’ve had some practice,” Mike says and smiles at the smirk on Jack’s face. “Your doorman-“  
  
“Goes off the clock at eleven, and the follow-up leaves at seven. What time do you plan to leave?”  
  
“I have to meet my folks for lunch at one.” Mike’s throat suddenly dries at the thought.  
  
“Breathe, Mike,” Jack instructs as the elevator dings and the doors open. Jack leads the way out of the elevator and down to the end of the hall. He hands Mike his bag of groceries and unlocks the door. “Get comfortable,” he says as he takes back the bag. “I’ll make us a snack.”  
  
There’s a part of Mike that doesn’t want the snack. He wants to push Jack against the wall and kiss him like he’s been wanting to kiss him for weeks. Everything’s finally in place. Jack is no longer obligated by ethics, and they have a place to be alone. But this is, on Jack’s insistence, a one-time thing, and Mike breathes in and makes himself appreciate whatever details he can get.  
  
The living room and kitchen are separated by an island countertop, and the entire wall opposite the door is covered in bookshelves. Mike reads a few titles and listens to Jack in the kitchen. He looks over when he hears Jack curse, and their eyes meet.  
  
“Come here,” Jack says in a tone that’s not negotiable.  
  
Mike crosses to the kitchen and sucks in a breath when Jack reaches for him. “Yes,” he says quietly as Jack kisses him. Jack pushes against him, tongue licking the roof of his mouth, and Mike simply allows himself to be pushed until his back hits the counter.  
  
“All right?” Jack asks, pulling away just far enough to dip his head and breathe on Mike’s neck.  
  
“I’m good.” Mike takes initiative, grabs Jack’s hair, and pulls him into a kiss that’s mostly instinct and teeth. “If I only get one go-“ Mike cuts off when Jack lifts him and sits him on the island. “Hey!”  
  
“We’re doing this once, Mike. That’s the deal.” Jack presses his thumb against Mike’s lip when he tries to protest. “That’s the deal, and we’re doing this right.”  
  
“Why only once?” Mike asks when Jack removes his thumb.   
  
“Because it’s smart.” Jack looks up from slicing strawberries when Mike snorts. “What?”  
  
“Because we’ve been so very smart,” Mike says with a roll of his eyes.  
  
Jack walks back to Mike and slides a strawberry slice into his mouth. “That’s my point. We’ve been-“  
  
Mike doesn’t want to hear what they’ve been. He pulls Jack in by his shirt collar and kisses him hard, sliding the strawberry slice into Jack’s mouth when he opens up to deepen the kiss. “Let’s do this right.”  
  
Jack smirks against Mike’s mouth and chews his strawberry. “All right, then.” He slides a hand under Mike’s t-shirt and slowly slides his tongue around the edges of Mike’s teeth. Mike groans and leans in, legs coming up to wrap around Jack’s waist. Jack hums with approval as he pulls away. “I have a bed.”  
  
“So?” Mike tightens his legs around Jack and unbuttons Jack’s jeans. “I’m good here.”  
  
Jack hisses when Mike slides a hand into his pants. “Horizontal-“  
  
“Overrated.” Mike presses his hand against Jack’s dick and smiles when Jack loses his breath. “I want-“ Jack kisses him, hard and fast, teeth sliding against Mike’s lip, one hand gripping at Mike’s thigh. Mike kisses back just as hard, teeth scraping Jack’s tongue. “More. God.”  
  
“Ask nicely,” Jack says with a chuckle. He groans when Mike moves his hand and wraps his fingers around his cock.  
  
“Please.” Mike presses the word into Jack’s neck and bites down under Jack’s chin.  
  
It takes three deep breaths for Jack to pull away and remove Mike’s hand from his pants. “We’re going to the bedroom,” he says as he unwinds Mike’s legs. He helps Mike down from the counter and lets himself get distracted when Mike unbuttons his shirt and kisses his chest. He pulls Mike along, stopping to kiss him when its demanded, and once they’re in the bedroom, Jack spins them so that they fall on the bed, Mike on the bottom, Jack balanced over him with his hands by Mike’s head.  
  
“The hotel,” Mike says and stops to lick his lips. “During regionals, at the hotel, I wanted…” he looks away, and a blush darkens the flush on his face.  
  
“What did you want?” Jack asks. He unbuttons Mike’s jeans and licks just above the waistband of Mike’s boxers.  
  
“I wanted to have sex.” Mike arches his hips when Jack bites below his navel. “Like, you know, without the booze.”  
  
“Mmm,” Jack mutters and presses his nose to the peaking flap of Mike’s underwear. “We’ll see what we can do.”  
  
Mike wants to answer with something witty or charming. He wants to say something that’ll make Jack laugh in the back of his throat, but Jack sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, and all Mike can do is dig his fingers into the sheets and bite down on his lip.  
  
Jack pulls off of Mike’s cock and runs his fingers down Mike’s sac. “If you don’t tell me what’s good, I can’t do this right.” There’s just a hint of amusement in his voice.  
  
“More,” Mike says through his teeth. “Just…more.”  
  
“Okay, then.” Jack licks up Mike’s dick and sucks it back into his mouth. When Mike bucks, Jack moves with it and sucks a little harder.  
  
“I…oh…” Mike’s eyes are screwed shut, and he only unclenches his fingers when Jack pries them off the sheets and intertwines their fingers. “Want. I want.” He groans when Jack pulls off again. “…what?” He asks after a second.  
  
Jack slides up Mike’s body and pushes up Mike’s shirt. He nips at one of Mike’s nipples and looks up. “Anything?”  
  
“Should there be?”  
  
“Depends on the person.” Jack tugs at the shirt until Mike gets the point and lifts up enough to get it off. “Sometimes people have sensitive nipples. Sometimes they don’t. You don’t.” Jack smiles at Mike’s hair, disarrayed from the t-shirt and Mike’s writhing. He runs his fingers through Mike’s hair, scratching at his scalp. Mike’s eyes close, and he tips his head. “And that?”  
  
“I like that,” Mike practically purrs. He opens his eyes halfway and reaches for the lapels of Jack’s shirt. He slides his hands along either side of Jack’s ribcage and trails his fingernails. “Is that good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jack says and leans in to kiss Mike slowly. “I want to make you scream,” Jack says against Mike’s ear. Mike’s sudden shortness of breath tells Jack it’s a turn-on. “I want to suck you off and fuck you senseless.” He runs his fingers along the line of Mike’s shoulders. “I want to leave teeth marks.”  
  
Mike pushes against Jack’s chest and sends him sprawling. He follows, leaving a trail of biting, sucking kisses all the way up Jack’s torso. He noses under Jack’s chin and straddles Jack’s hips before he goes in for a kiss. “Why are we still talking?” He asks when he pulls away. “We’ve talked enough.”  
  
Jack’s laugh is cut off by a gasp when Mike nips at his ear. “Well, given our usual way of spending time-“  
  
“Fuck the usual.” Mike says, and ungracefully maneuvers down Jack to work the zip on his jeans. He gets the zipper down, and pulls at Jack’s waistband to pull apart the flaps. He pauses in shock. “You’re not-“  
  
“I don’t, usually. Not when I’m off.” Jack smirks at the way Mike just stares at him. “Oh, come on, you’ve got more bravado than that.”  
  
“Well, yeah, usually.”  
  
Jack laughs again. “Well, you’d best find it if you’re planning to do what I think you’re about to.”  
  
“I’m gonna,” Mike says and takes an experimental lick at the crown of Jack’s dick. “You’re salty.”  
  
“It’s fairly common.” Jack hisses out a breath when Mike licks him again. “You don’t-“  
  
“I’m getting this once.” Mike sucks the head of Jack’s dick into his mouth. He slides his tongue around to get used to it, and Jack groans. Mike grins a little and moves his tongue again. He pauses when Jack’s hand curls into his hair, but after a moment of Jack simply remaining still, Mike adjusts his jaw and slides down just a little. Jack moans, and Mike gets a sudden rush at the sound. He’s doing it. He’s having sex with Jack. Real sex. No almost moments in a hotel bed or drunken bad decisions in Jack’s classroom. They’re having sex. The fact makes Mike suck a little harder, take Jack slightly deeper, and dig his nails into Jack’s hip.  
  
Jack thrusts without meaning to and immediately stills when he hears Mike choke. He opens his eyes and waits. Mike pulls off and looks at him for a moment. “You don’t-“ Jack stops talking when Mike wraps a hand around his dick and pulls lightly. “Harder,” he says after a moment. Mike tightens his grip. “Yes.”  
  
Mike watches Jack’s body strain as he moves his hand. He trails a hand up the inside of Jack’s thigh and smiles when Jack curls the leg around his hip. “This is good?” He leans down and takes the head of Jack’s cock into his mouth again.  
  
“Great,” Jack says and tugs at Mike’s hair when Mike starts to suck. “This is great.” Jack grunts when Mike grabs his balls and rolls them a little. “That’s good,” he says. Mike does it again, and his mouth drops a little lower. His other hand pulls up on Jack’s cock as his tongue swipes the crown. Jack writhes, forcing himself not to move upward as Mike pulls his mouth up and moves his hand down. It’s a sloppy blowjob, with obvious inexperience and a bit of awkwardness. Jack’s pretty sure it’s going to be one of the best blowjobs of his life.  
  
“Harder,” he pushes out when Mike pauses for a second. “I’m almost-nggh.” Jack closes his eyes and throws an arm across his face as he comes. He breathes in and out for a few seconds and feels Mike move to press against his side. “That was embarrassing.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Jack lifts his arms and squints at Mike, who’s nearly at his nose. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
“What?” Mike wipes at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and licks his bottom lip. He blinks when he catches the intensity of Jack’s eyes. “You okay?”  
  
“God,” Jack breathes, and flips over so that he’s looming over Mike. Mike just looks at him, the confusion clear in his eyes. “Once,” he says to himself, and looks away when Mike’s expression changes to anger.  
  
“I still don’t-“  
  
Jack kisses him to stop the sentence. Mike keeps going, arguing his point incoherently against Jack’s tongue. When Jack pulls away, Mike takes a moment to take a breath.  
  
“Your ethical obligations are negated. I know you’ve still got to worry about-unh.” Mike breathes out hard when Jack sucks on his hip. “I’m not a student…” Jack bites the inside of his thigh. “There are ways to make this work. We-“ Mike props up on his elbows and watches Jack suck him. Jack’s hair falls into his eyes, and Mike pushes it off his face. “You’re distracting me on purpose.” Jack doesn’t answer, just sucks a little harder and presses a finger behind Mike’s balls. He gasps and loses his balance, falling flat on the bed and arching his hips. “Fuck.”   
  
Jack presses his finger harder, and Mike screws shut his eyes. He tries to think of distractions. He pictures Munch looking at him over his glasses and calling him an idiot. It only helps a little, with the way Jack is sliding up and down his cock. “I can’t-“ Jack slides his finger down and presses directly on Mike’s anus. Mike spends a moment trying to remember to breathe. Jack runs his tongue over the underside of Mike’s cock and hollows out his cheeks.  
  
Mike screams.  
  
It’s a full minute before Mike finds his voice. “I…jesus.”  
  
Jack presses his head to Mike’s thigh. “Good, then?”  
  
Mike laughs. It’s a little hoarse. “Oh, yeah. That was great.” He turns his head when Jack slides up the sheets. “No one’s ever gone there.”  
  
“Gone where?”  
  
“Down,” Mike gestures and blushes at Jack’s raised eyebrows. “No one’s ever played with my ass. Happy?”  
  
Jack is, more than he can say, and certainly more than he’ll let on. “No one?”  
  
“Well, I mean, I’ve felt around a little, because I’d heard things, but who was I gonna have do anything?” Mike rolls onto his side and slides an arm under his head. “Look, this is gonna sound stupid, but there hasn’t been, you know, anyone…” He tries on a smile and waits for Jack to say something.  
  
Jack’s trying to choose his words carefully. There’s so much he could say and so much he wants to say, but they’re two completely separate lists. “There are other people to meet, Mike,” he says finally.  
  
“I know that,” Mike says disgustedly. He shifts to turn away, but freezes halfway through the motion, leaving himself mostly on his back. “That’s why.” He looks at Jack and narrows his eyes. “You made a big deal about this being a one-night thing.” Jack doesn’t say anything, and Mike rolls off the bed. “I can’t believe this. You think I’m going to form some ridiculous amount of attachment and not want to leave.”  
  
“I don’t,” Jack says and grimaces at the look Mike gives him. “You’re eighteen.”  
  
“So?” Mike paces the length of the bedroom, hands on his hips and teeth worrying his bottom lip. “So what? You’re thirty-nine. That doesn’t mean I immediately assume you’re going to buy a cheap Corvette and leave me for some bleached bimbo.”  
  
“How could I? If I got one any younger, it’d be illegal.” Jack grits his teeth after he says it and watches Mike for a reaction. It’s a few tense seconds before Mike laughs. Jack can’t find the joke.  
  
Mike sits on the bed and rubs at his neck. “I can’t believe you just said that.” He smiles at Jack a little crookedly. “I can’t believe I just said what I said, either.”  
  
“We can’t have a relationship, Mike.”  
  
“I know.” Mike flops flat on the bed and turns his head to look at Jack. “I’m young and impulsive, and there are all kinds of things for me to see and do.”  
  
“That’s a bit more sarcastic than I put it, but the gist is right.” Jack reaches out and splays his hand on Mike’s stomach. “I’ve got a career, Mike. I have expectations to meet that you shouldn’t have to worry about yet.”  
  
“I’m supposed to go to college, meet people, have casual sex, and learn to do a keg stand.”  
  
“And graduate, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”  
  
“I’ll fit it in, probably.” Mike rolls onto his side and moves closer to Jack. “This okay?”  
  
Jack pulls him closer. “This is fine.”  
  
They lie in silence, Jack’s fingers stroking Mike’s back. Mike throwing his leg over Jack and moving that much closer. “What about later?”  
  
“Hmmm?” Jack asks, half asleep and comfortable.  
  
“After college. When I’ve done a keg stand and graduated. What about then?”  
  
“That’s four years from now, Mike. You could meet somebody.”  
  
Mike thinks chances are pretty slim. He also knows a lot of people who have said that at eighteen. “On the off-chance that someone doesn’t lure me into a sexual trap, what then?”  
  
“Hypotheticals will get us nowhere,” Jack says instead of admitting he wants it so badly he can taste it. “Let’s just-“  
  
“I’m going to keep in touch,” Mike interrupts. “I’m going to e-mail you and sometimes, and I’ll make you meet me places for cheap dinners.”  
  
“I won’t say no to that.” Jack kisses Mike, short and casual. “But it has to be friendly. And I mean that as platonic, not your foot in my lap.”  
  
“Fine.” Mike sighs and curls a little closer. “If no one’s got me occupied in four years, I’m coming back. I’m going to walk into your room and sit at your desk and you’re going to be happy to see me.”  
  
Jack doesn’t bother arguing. He’ll lose. He pulls the blanket over the two of them and closes his eyes. “Go to sleep, Mike.”  
  
“I’ll do it, Jack.”  
  
Jack hopes so, just a little, and falls asleep before he can berate himself for being foolish.


End file.
